


Here Be Dragons

by Theatregirl7299



Series: Dragon'verse [1]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Knifeplay, M/M, Non canon death of canon characters (primarily pre-story), Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 23:16:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2485817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theatregirl7299/pseuds/Theatregirl7299
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Burke is a high-end jeweler.  When he meets Neal Caffrey, a talented young jewelry designer, it seems like a match made in heaven.  But when Neal discovers that Peter is an ancient dragon, it sets in motion a firestorm that neither one may survive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> A/N - Created for the 2014 White Collar Big Bang.
> 
> This has been an epic journey to create and would have not been possible without the help of the following people:
> 
> Miri Thompson - You warred with me when I was whiny, helped me twist plots and generally made yourself indispensable. Thank you.
> 
> Kanarek13 - What can I say? Your art is incredible. I bombarded you with email ideas, you delivered more than I asked for and you captured the vision of this story even before I did. Every time I needed inspiration because I was floundering, I turned to your art. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
> 
> Elrhiarhodan - If I wrote all the words I wanted to use to thank you with, this note would be longer than the story. You held my hand, kicked my butt, inspired me with “oh oh…what about THIS!?”, let me play with your characters and kept me on track when I wanted to just crawl under my covers and quit. You are my brain twin and this story is just as much yours as it is mine. Thank you.

The storm came in over the ocean, roiling like the Wild Hunt of ancient times. Sheets of rain pelted the balcony of the penthouse, sending tables and chairs skidding against the railings in tangled heaps of wood and chrome.

The pounding thunder rattled the balcony doors as the wind ripped them open. The weather howled through the interior, picking up papers and flinging them about the room. Lightning streaked across the sky like skeletal fingers reaching out from the grave, illuminating the lone figure seated in the high-back leather chair. 

Peter picked up the crystal-cut glass, the whiskey in it glowing dull amber in the ambient light. His hand gripped the glass - strong and sturdy, minuscule scars bleached white with age - as he contemplated the liquor before bringing it to his lips for a sip. Rising gracefully, he shut and locked the doors, returning to his chair to finish his drink. Time clicked by while the tempest raged, seconds turning into minutes as Peter waited patiently.

The gale was finally overhead, the moaning of the winds and the crashing of the thunder making the steel and glass building shudder violently. A bolt of lightning struck the building nearby, the white-hot light illuminating the shape of the figure in the doorway before a loud boom plunged the city into darkness, the only light now coming from the embers glowing in the fireplace.

Peter felt his presence – the slight change in the air that signaled another person was in the room. He didn’t have to see the face to know who was standing behind him. He knew that face intimately. The smile, the taste of lips, the feel of the rough stubble against his body.

“Neal.” Peter took another sip of the whiskey.

“Peter.” Neal’s voice was soft, almost covered by the storm’s violent screams.

“I was wondering when you would come back.” 

“When?” There was choked disbelief in Neal’s voice. “Didn’t you mean ‘if’?”

“No…” Peter’s voice trailed off as he gazed into the dying flames. “I’m fairly sure I meant ‘when’.”

“You sonofa –,” Neal circled the chair, planting himself directly in front of Peter. His rain-drenched hair left scattered droplets on Peter’s thighs, soaking into the wool of his Armani pants. “What kind of game are you playing?”

“I’m not playing any games, Neal.” Peter looked Neal up and down. The man in front of him was not the man he’d met six months ago. That man was vibrant and full of mischief and could give Shakespeare’s Puck a run for his money. This Neal was dark and angry, reflecting the storm that was going on outside.

“I need to kill you, Peter.” Neal shifted, the sword in his right hand coming into view.  
Peter took a moment to acknowledge the workmanship of the weapon. Hand-forged Damascus steel, pigeon blood ruby surrounded by sapphires and amethysts in the hilt. His eyes flashed gold as his nature surfaced, fingers itching to hold the treasure in Neal’s hand.

“Need is one thing, but what do you want, Neal?” He raised his eyes to Neal and watched as his lover, his friend – his heart – struggled to put his emotions into words.

“I want…” Neal’s voice trailed away – but then he raised the sword. “What I want doesn’t matter…”

_Six Months Earlier_

Peter Burke stood at the balcony and observed the customers wandering about the showroom of The Dragon’s Hoard. Being able to see the ebb and flow of commerce was the main reason for having his office on the mezzanine. The other was to see his stock whenever he felt the need to admire his baubles.

Blake was waiting on a young couple looking at diamond solitaires. The woman, petite, her blonde hair pulled up in a chignon, pointed to a ring in the case. Princess cut, three carat, flawless, platinum setting. Peter knew his inventory and he knew which one she would pick. He also knew that it was way out of her fiancé’s price range. 

He pushed himself off the railing and headed down the stairs. Approaching the couple, he smiled.

“Hello, I’m Peter Burke, the owner.” He held out his hand for the young man to shake. “I noticed you were looking the platinum set Princess cut.”

At their nod he continued. “May I make a suggestion?” Peter motioned for Blake to take out another ring. “The Princess cut really is a lovely diamond, but I think this one would suit you better…?” he tilted his head, silently asking the woman her name. 

“Katie.”

“Katie,” Peter repeated. “While the main stone is smaller than the one you looked at, the clarity is better and the setting will suit your hand. May I?” He held out his hand for hers. Sliding the ring onto her finger, he held it under the lamp attached to the case. “See? It’s perfect.”

“Ohhh,” Katie breathed at the sparking facets. “It’s gorgeous.”

“And…” Peter leaned in to her companion. “I think we can do better than the list price. After all, love shouldn’t make you go broke.”

He grinned, watching the young man breathe a sigh of relief. “Blake will take care of you from here. And congratulations. May you have many happy years together.” 

Peter smiled to himself as he walked away, satisfied that everyone got what they wanted.

“Nice gesture there.” His assistant, Diana Berrigan fell into step with him as he headed to the back of the store. “It wouldn’t be because you weren’t ready to part with that Princess cut, was it?” She quirked an eyebrow at him.

Peter chuckled. “Maybe a bit. But the Princess cut was way out of their price range. I just guided them to the right choice.” He grinned at her. “So what’s on our agenda today?”

“Mrs. Neidermeyer is coming in at ten to see you. Her granddaughter is graduating with her doctorate and she wants something special as a gift.” She handed him the iPad she was carrying.

“Did she say specifically what stones she wanted?” Peter swiped his thumb across the screen and opened a file, bringing up a list of gems.

“She said she was leaning towards black opal. It’s her granddaughter’s favorite stone.” 

“Hmm.” Peter scrolled down, highlighting several pictures of the fiery stone. “Specific piece?”

“Full set – earrings, ring, necklace and bracelet.” Diana picked up another tablet from her desk and called up a file. “Gold setting, maybe some diamond accents. Oh, and ‘Money is no object’.”

“It never is with Mrs. Neidermeyer.” Peter opened up a drawing application and unhooked the stylus from the tablet. With a few sweeps, he sketched out a rough idea of what he thought the set should look like. “Pull rows OP15 through 25. That should cover the necklace and earrings. I’ll be seeing Aaron and Dov at lunch today – he should be able to match up the rest for me.”

“Lunch, huh?” Diana looked at him in disbelief. “You wouldn’t be meeting at the American Crafts Festival at Lincoln Center would you?”

“Maybe.” Peter smiled to himself. He knew where Diana was going with her questions. He motioned for her to follow him back upstairs to his office.

“Boss, I don’t know why you go there. You spend too much money on stuff you don’t need. Then I have to find a place to put it all.” 

“It’s my money,” Peter protested. “And I can’t help that I like shiny stuff.”

“Raven,” Diana muttered under her breath as they arrived at his desk.

“What was that?” Peer turned to her in mock outrage. “Did I just hear you call me a raven?”

“You know, Boss, if the shoe fits…” She trailed off, ducking as Peter snorted a small lick of flame at her. “Hey now, no fire in the store. Remember your rule!”

“It’s not like it’s going to damage you.” Peter walked to the closet to get his coat. “You’re fireproof, remember?”

“And how do you expect me to explain no burn marks after you shoot flames out of your nose?”

“You’re my PR goddess – you’ll find a way.” Peter grinned, his face morphing subtly. “I’ve got to go meet Aaron and Dov. Oh, and clear out the back room. I feel a shopping trip coming on.”

Peter let out a bark of laughter as he heard her cursing his ancestors. It was going to be a good day, he thought as he headed out the door towards Lincoln Center.

“Neal where do you want to put the new pieces?”

Neal Caffrey looked up from the storage container he was digging through and regarded his cousin with amusement. Elizabeth Mitchell was holding a plastic craft box in one hand and a display tray with a set of jeweled earrings in the other, looking thoroughly damp in the early morning heat. 

They were replenishing their stock for the American Crafts Festival at Lincoln Center. Neal was lucky to get a table this year – the jury selection was brutal and booth space was limited. He knew that this show would bring in the big wigs from some of the bigger stores and he hoped that it would land him a job designing for one of them. Being an independent designer was great, but it was tough sometimes to pay the bills. 

“Peacock earrings – good choice.” Neal took the tray from her and looked at the jewelry. Amethyst and peridot were intertwined with blue topaz, garnet, aquamarine and gold zircon to create an illusion of peacock feathers. Neal opened the tabletop display case and rearranged a few pieces. “Let’s put them here next to the lapis choker. The blue will set off the other stones.”

Satisfied with their placement, he turned to her and held his hand out for the storage container. “What else is in there?” 

“Mostly your silver stuff.” 

Rifling through it, he chose a few more sets of earrings and an Art Deco style bracelet made of sapphire and silver. “That should be enough.” He handed them to Elizabeth and scooted around the table to take a look at the display from a buyer’s standpoint.

“Hmmm…okay, I don’t like the iolite ring next to the amethyst brooch – too close in color. Put it next to the yellow topaz in the upper right hand corner. Yeah, right there.” Neal nodded as she placed the ring next to the set of topaz earrings.

“I don’t know why you don’t just arrange them by color. Or by type.” She blew her bangs out of her face.

“Because it looks more like a treasure this way.” Grinning at her, he circled back behind the table. “And people like treasure hunts.”

“You going to put out any of your dragons?” The question was asked carefully.

Neal paused, running a hand through his dark hair. “I don’t know.”

“Come on Neal, it’s your best work.” Elizabeth huffed at him. “You never know who’s going to be looking for a designer for their store.”

“I know, El, it’s just…” He trailed off with a sigh. 

“Just what, Neal?” He felt her move closer to him and turn his face towards her. “They are phenomenal pieces, Neal. You should be proud of them.”

And that was the problem.

His dragons were more than just pieces of jewelry, more than just pieces of art. They were a part of him that he needed to create but he wasn’t sure he wanted to share. Elizabeth kept nudging him to display them, even if he wasn’t going to sell them, but he didn’t even want to do that. It was too much like exposing himself to the world and it made him feel uncomfortable. 

Neal glanced at the black case next to his chair. He knew exactly what pieces were inside, where in the case they were stored. He always took them with him on the off chance that he may meet a contact and show them his work. So far it hadn’t happened. By his choice. He chuckled quietly. 

“I’ll think about it.”

Elizabeth squeezed him in a tight hug. “That’s all I ask.” She set up the checkout section of their display with pens, Neal’s brochures and business cards. “There. We’re ready.”

“Good.” Neal pulled out a sketchbook and colored pencils. “The doors open in a half hour and I need to get some sketching done.” He sat down and flipped the book open.

“What are you working on?” Elizabeth grabbed a bottle of water out of the cooler under the table.

Neal grinned sheepishly. “Something that I’ll need a patron for.” He flipped the book around to show her.

Neal had sketched out a formal desk set, complete with penholder, blotter, ruler. Muted gold shone from the page, almost velvet in its texture. Each item displayed a dragon. Some were in repose, their figures at rest but with a subtle energy inherent in their form. Others were in flight, wings caught in that moment of lift. Still others were wrapped around each other, bodies twined sinuously in what only could be described as a mating dance. Their scales were highlighted with multicolored bits of polished gems, sapphire, topaz, emerald, ruby. 

Elizabeth gasped at the images. “Oh Neal -.” She reached out instinctively to touch the paper then drew her hand back. “They’re beautiful.”

“Thanks.” Neal added a bit of shading. “I’m collecting the stones slowly. Aaron and Dov are stopping by around lunch to bring me some emeralds for the eyes of the dragon on the ruler.” He looked at the sketch and sighed. “Maybe one day I’ll be able to create them. Until then…” He closed the book. The desire to add to the image was gone, at least for the moment. He closed the sketchbook and slid it to the side of the checkout table. 

“It’ll happen. I have faith in you.” Elizabeth ruffled his hair and laughed when he ducked away from her.

“So, changing the subject, have you picked your piece yet?” She nodded towards the display case. 

It was an old game they played – ever since the night he’d had dinner at his aunt’s house and Elizabeth convinced him to let her manage his business. Each of them would pick a piece of Neal’s work and, if it sold, would buy the other dinner. They were only allowed to upsell their chosen piece if it fell in line with what the customer wanted to buy.

“Yup. The Etruscan-style cross with the emeralds. You?” Neal placed the sketchbook and pencils off to the side.

“Hmm…” He watched Elizabeth study the case. “It’s Thursday, it’s going to be in the 90s today, so I’ll go with the citrine and red tourmaline earrings.” 

Neal let out a bark of laughter. “That was very scientific.”

“So how’d you pick the cross, smartass?” She crossed her arms and cocked her hip. 

“With my tried and true method, thank you very much.” Neal gave her an exaggerated bow.

“You closed your eyes and pointed, didn’t you.” Her tone was dry.

“Yes, yes I did.” 

Elizabeth snorted.

“Hey, it’s as accurate as your method!” he protested.

“Uh huh. Just so you know I’m in the mood for sushi this evening.” Elizabeth grinned. “So be prepared.”

“What a shame we’ll be eating steak tonight then.” Neal was about to tease her further when a customer stepped up to the booth and asked about ‘the gold cross with the emeralds’. 

Flashing Elizabeth a grin, he got to work. He was determined to make this a good day.

Lunch with Aaron and Dov Hershkovitz was always entertaining, Peter thought as he watched his friends comment on the passersby. They were seated at an outdoor café on 67th Street enjoying the last of their bagels and lox. The two jewelers were comparing the pedestrians to gemstones.

“That one.” Aaron pointed to a middle-aged woman in a summer Chanel suit and two-inch heels. “That one is a sapphire.”

“Why a sapphire, _Zayde_?” Dov asked him with a grin and a wink at Peter.

“Because she is cold fire. And her mother in law is the diamond in the family. Look.” He waved towards the woman who was joined by an elderly dowager-looking lady with shopping bags. The younger took the bags and fell in behind in what was obviously a learned behavior. “You see?”

Peter chuckled. This was an old game they played but it never ceased to amuse him. “As always, Aaron, you are right.” 

“Of course I am. But it’s kind of you to humor an old man.” He finished up his meal. “So what are we shopping for today, Peter?” 

“Not sure. It’s kind of a ‘I’ll know it when I see it’ trip.” Peter motioned to the waitress for the check. Pulling out his wallet, he handed her a credit card.

“Ahh. And your lovely Diana will have to clean out the back storeroom again?”

“Yes, I warned her.” Peter smiled ruefully. “She’s not happy but she’ll survive.”

“Be careful, Peter. You don’t want to make her angry.” This was said with a chuckle and a knowing grin. “You might come to work and find all your pretty gems missing.”

“I’ll let you in on a secret, Aaron. Diana loves the stuff as much as I do.” Peter scribbled his signature on the receipt. “Honestly, the items we don’t resell at the shop in East Hampton usually wind up in her apartment.”

Dov stood up with a laugh. “That doesn’t surprise me at all. She’s as much of a hoarder as you. So where to first?”

“I’m in the mood for some interesting pieces to use for display,” Peter replied. “We’re getting in some rubies from India and I want to showcase them.”

“Still not buying from Burma?” Dov gestured for his grandfather to go before him. 

“Not until they improve the working conditions in the mines.” Peter’s tone was short. “I may be missing out on some quality stones, but at least I can sleep well at night.”

The three men fell silent as they made their way through the crowd. Stopping by a booth, Peter found several handmade Indian-inspired shawls. He purchased several, refusing to rise to Dov’s teasing that he bought them as a peace offering for Diana. 

“Tateleh, we are near your friend’s booth, no?” Aaron looked at his grandson with what Peter could only describe as a sly grin. 

“Right around those tents. Peter, I hope you don’t mind, but I need to drop off an order to a designer friend of mine.”

“No problem, Dov. What’s he specialize in?” Peter took the package from the salesperson and followed his friend.

“Now, Peter…let it be a surprise. Truly though, his work is some of the best I’ve ever seen. You might be interested in selling some of his stuff, actually.” Dov’s voice was excited. 

“We’ll see. You know I don’t just feature anyone. The work needs to suit the store.” Peter was very particular what and who he featured at The Dragon’s Hoard. It was one of the reasons they didn’t have a resident designer. Peter just hadn’t found one whose work truly spoke to him.

“Peter,” Dov stopped and faced him. “You’ve been buying from us for years. The little ones call you _Dohd_ Peter. Trust me, okay?”

Peter hmmm’d noncommittally. 

When they arrived at the booth, Peter had to admit that Dov was right. The pieces were magnificent. Purple, blue, red, green, pink, white - all the colors sparkled in the sunlight and made his head spin. He fought off the urge to storm the booth and scoop up everything so he could rush them off to his vault and admire them in private. Taking a deep breath and keeping his dragon at bay, he stepped to the side so Dov could conduct his business. 

“ _Shalom_ , Elizabeth.” Dov greeted a beautiful brunette with deep blue eyes. If Peter leaned that way, he’d seriously consider asking her to dinner. “Is Neal around? I brought his emeralds.” Peter watched Dov dig into his pocket and pull out a white envelope.

“He’s next door chatting with Dmitri. Neal!” She called out. 

“Coming!” The tent flap lifted and Peter found himself in the presence of the most beautiful man he had ever seen. Dark hair, thick and curling in the response to the early heat, with blue eyes that would put the most perfect aquamarine to shame; the young man had a smile on his face that was friendly and sensual at the same time. The young man was dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans that fitted his body perfectly and an off-white linen shirt, casually untucked. Peter’s cock stirred and for a moment his desire for the jewels in the case disappeared at the thought of taking this exquisite creature home with him instead.

“Dov!” The two men hugged. “How are you?”

“Good, good.”

“And you, _Feter_?” Neal’s voice was warm as he greeted Aaron with the honorific ‘uncle.’

“Eh, I’m old, what can you say?” Aaron shrugged. Peter grinned. It was a typical comment from the diamond merchant and no one took it to heart.

“I have your emeralds, Neal.” Dov handed him the envelope. “ _Mazal und brucha._ ” The two men shook hands, confirming the exchange.

Neal broke the seal on the envelope. Peter moved slightly closer, curious to see exactly what Dov had brought the other man. His breath caught - inside were two exquisitely matched marquise cut emeralds. 

“They’re perfect, Dov. Thank you.” Neal held one up to the light and Peter desperately wanted to know what he had in store for such beautiful stones. 

Dov seemed to have the same idea. “So, Neal, tell me. What do you plan to do with those?”

“They’re for a project I’m working on.” Peter noticed that Neal seemed to be hesitant to share. 

“Show him, Neal.” Peter heard Elizabeth speak softly. He glanced over to her and saw that she was looking at Peter with a knowing smile on her face. He felt that the ‘him’ in her comment was directed at not at Dov but at him. Interesting. He turned back to see the younger man take a sketchbook from the table and flip through the pages. 

“It’s just an idea, nothing is set yet.” Neal turned the book around so Dov and Aaron could see what was on the page. 

Peter was stunned at what he saw. Dragons in repose, at play, at war, their eyes flashing, scales glittering. The detail was amazing. Somehow in that simple sketch, Neal had managed to capture the essence of what a dragon really was. A slight breeze ruffled the paper, making the dragons look like they were ready to take flight. 

Peter felt a low buzzing at the base of his spine – a mix of excitement and need. If this was an example of Caffrey’s work…. Peter licked his lips in anticipation. Neal was what he’d been looking for. He stepped forward, the words slipping out before he could help himself.

“I want you.”

_I want you._

Those words came from the man standing next to Dov. Tall, dark and handsome – Neal thought that the cliché fell far short of the truth. Brown hair, highlighted gold in the afternoon sun that made Neal want to run his hands through, broad shoulders that Neal wanted to touch, deep chocolate eyes that connected with him in a way that no one had done before. The man radiated power in his Armani suit. Neal wanted to know him, mentally and physically. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Sorry, sorry.” The man had the grace to blush, which made him all the more endearing. “I meant for my store. I want you for my store.” Neal smiled as the man tripped over his words. “That didn’t come out right. Let me start over.”

The man held out his hand. “I’m Peter Burke. I own the Dragon’s Hoard. And if this is an example of your work, I want to hire you as my designer.”

Neal heard Elizabeth gasp softly and nudge him. They’d both heard about the fabled jewelry store. For years, Neal had tried to get an appointment with the owner – this man – but he’d never been successful. Now he was standing in front of Neal and offering him a job. 

“Um…I’m Neal Caffrey.” Neal quickly shook Peter’s hand, secretly enjoying the firm grip and wondering what that hand would feel like squeezing his cock. _Deep breath, Neal. He’s a potential employer._ “It’s a pleasure to meet you, finally.”

“Finally?” Peter Burke raised an eyebrow in question. “Have you been trying to meet me?” His mouth quirked in a smile that Neal wanted to see on a regular basis.

It was Neal’s turn to blush. “When I first got into town about two years ago, I made the rounds of the specialty jewelry stores to see if anyone was hiring.” Neal shrugged. “The person I spoke to said you didn’t hire designers and that I was wasting my time.” 

Peter frowned. “When was that approximately? And can you remember who you talked to?” 

“Summer 2012, I think. And it was an older guy, blondish hair. Farrell…Faller...?”

“Fowler?” 

“That’s it!” Neal nodded, remembering the man’s rudeness. “He made a comment about being escorted out of the store if I ever came back.” 

Peter’s face darkened in anger and Neal swore that he saw smoke coming out of his nostrils. “I’m sorry about that. Garrett Fowler was a hire I made in error. A request from a friend. He no longer works for me. Please accept my apologies for the way you were treated.”

“It’s okay.” Neal had to admit he was a bit impressed with the formality of Peter’s tone. It reminded him of the books of fables and fairytales he used to read growing up. “No real harm done.” 

“No, but it would have meant I could have had you two years earlier.” Peter ducked his head. “Wait, that didn’t come out right either.”

Neal had to laugh. “How about we talk about what you’re looking for.”

“Please?” Peter looked so relieved that Neal wanted to hug him.

They were interrupted by a smiling Dov. “Peter, if you’re going to talk business, then we are going to go.” Dov motioned to his grandfather. “Aaron and I have clients we need to meet this afternoon.” Neal watched as Dov pulled Peter close to him and whispered in his ear, patting his shoulder when he finished. “Neal, Elizabeth, _Shalom._ It was good to see you both.” The two diamond merchants departed, leaving Peter standing at the booth.

“Come around the display case and we can talk.” Neal gestured to the open area and waited as Peter squeezed through the gap between the tables and the storage containers. “Sorry about the clutter. I basically brought the kitchen sink, just in case.” He unfolded two chairs and set them up in the back. “Elizabeth, can you keep track of the front for a bit?”

“Of course.” Elizabeth had that gleam in her eye that told Neal she had an opinion and it wasn’t just going to be about the potential job offer.

Neal was immediately distracted as Peter sat down and crossed his legs, his Armani suit tugging in all the right places. He had a fleeting thought of climbing onto Peter’s lap and riding him. _Focus!_ “So,” he said, trying to reel in his fantasy. “Tell me what you’re looking for.”

“I’m not sure, honestly. I’ve never had a resident designer before.”

“So why me?” Neal was curious. Peter’s comment about wanting him and then not ever having a resident designer made for intriguing possibilities. 

“Because of your dragon sketch. It’s exactly what I want for The Dragon’s Hoard.” Peter waved at the storage containers. “Do you have any finished work like that?” 

Neal’s gaze flickered over to the black case where his dragons were. He knew they were exactly what Peter was looking for but he still wasn’t sure about sharing them. He decided to stall and show Peter some other pieces while he considered.

“Let me show you some of the pieces that I didn’t put out yet, see if there’s anything you like.” Neal opened one of the storage cases and pulled out a cross section of styles. Peter examined each one, offering to purchase some, setting others back. They haggled over Neal’s latest design – an Art Deco pin, before Peter agreed to take it on consignment.

“These are perfect, Neal and I can move them fairly quickly, but it’s not exactly what I’m looking for,” Peter said, as Neal packaged up his purchases. Neal could hear the unspoken _and you know it._ at the end of his sentence. 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Elizabeth – blatantly eavesdropping – point to the case and mouth, _Show him_.

“I may have a few other pieces you might be interested in.” Neal reached over and grabbed the case. Opening it, he pulled out the black velvet display board and set it on top of a tall storage unit. He felt Peter’s scrutiny as he debated on which dragons to show him. Taking a deep breath, he removed several velvet bags and closed the case, putting it at his feet. Neal shook the contents of the bags into his hand and placed them on the display board. 

Three dragons were displayed – a Chinese dragon in gold, onyx and topaz twining sinuously around itself, a Greek Drákōn made of silver, emeralds and aquamarine that always put Neal in mind of the Aegean, and his favorite, a Welch dragon in gold and rubies. The sun captured the gold, silver and gemstones, splashing the colors on the side of the tent, bathing them in rainbow hues. Neal watched Peter’s expression shift from awe to admiration to – something else. _Lust_? Neal wasn’t sure, but a small part of him wanted to know what he needed to do to have Peter look at him that way. The thought made him shiver.

“How much?” Peter’s voice was rough and abrupt and it broke Neal from his musings.

“What?” Neal tried to catch up.

“I want to buy them. How much?” Peter pulled his wallet out from the pocket in his suit and retrieved a credit card. 

“They’re not for sale.” There was no way Neal was going to sell his dragons.

“Why not?” Peter looked put out, like a little boy who was told he couldn’t have a cookie.

“Because they are just not.” _Because they are too much a part of me._

“You can’t tease me like this, Neal. I’m serious.” 

“So am I. They’re not for sale.” Neal began to gather up his dragons, but was stopped by Peter’s hand on his wrist. His grip felt hot. Neal was sure there would be marks when he let go.

“Okay. If you won’t sell them, would you at least let me display them in my store? As a teaser for promoting my new designer?” The smile on Peter’s face left Neal dazzled. 

“I didn’t agree to work for you, yet.” 

“No, but you will.” Neal half laughed at Peter’s certainty that he would come to work for Peter. “Come by the store tomorrow at nine and let me show you the operation. See if it suits you.” 

Neal debated for a half-second before he said, “Okay. I’ll be there.”

“Good, Good.” Peter let go of Neal’s wrist and sat back. “Trust me, Neal. You won’t regret this.” Again, he exuded a power that sent a thrill down Neal’s spine. “I need to get back to the store or Diana will have my hide. You’ll get to meet her tomorrow. And don’t worry, she’s not as tough as she’ll seem.” Peter stood and shook his hand. Neal felt his breath as Peter leaned in. “I’m looking forward to this.”

As he watched Peter say goodbye to Elizabeth and head back to his store, Neal had to admire the man’s ass as he moved. He felt Elizabeth come up next to him. 

“Well, that was interesting,” she said.

“Yeah.” Neal kept looking until he lost Peter in the crowd.

“What are you going to do about it?”

“I have no clue.” They were interrupted by several people asking about items in the case. Neal nudged Elizabeth and they went to work. They were busy enough that Neal only thought about Peter’s offer every other moment. And if he were being honest, he was thinking more about the man than the job.

Peter Burke was exactly his type. Tall, legs for days, deep brown eyes. He could see himself falling and falling fast and that scared him. Mentally, Neal squared his shoulders and told himself it was a job, just a job.

If only he could believe that.

“Shop’s locked up and today’s inventory has been checked in,” Diana said as she entered the penthouse and put her purse on the entrance table. Peter was seated at the oak table, a piece of jewelry in his hands. She saw several more items resting on a black velvet cloth. “So how much room is going to be left in the upper storeroom after today?” She grinned as Peter looked up from the piece he was holding.

“Quite a lot, actually.” His tone was a bit sheepish. “But we’re going to need to remodel the space in the back a bit.” He waved his hand for her to sit down.

“Peter, what did you do?” Diana sat and poured herself a glass of wine from the bottle on the table. She recognized his tone of voice - it usually meant lots more work for her and lots of money to be spent.

“I might have hired a designer today.” 

“Excuse me?” It was a good thing she hadn’t taken a drink yet, because she would have managed the classic spit-take. “You did _what_?”

“I might have hired a designer today,” he repeated and damn her if Peter Burke wasn’t blushing. 

“Okay, spill.” _This should be good,_ she thought.

“Take a look at these.” Peter pulled the cloth towards her. Nestled in the black velvet were a set of earrings, a torque necklace and several bracelets. The colors shimmered under the soft lights of the apartment. Gold and silver, amethyst and topaz, emerald and rubies. Diana’s eyes darkened at the display in front of her. 

She picked up the torque and felt an instant connection. The deep gold, etched in a knot-work pattern, ruby-eyed beasts at the tips, spoke to her in a way that hadn’t happened in a long time. 

The earrings were a completely different theme altogether – their intricate silver and multicolored gemstone design put her in mind of a Jackson Pollack painting. Not her style, but she knew immediately which customer would buy them in a heartbeat.

“Ms. Meriwether would like these.” She held them up to her ear.

“That’s why I got them.” Peter held up one of the bracelets. Delicate silver links were interspersed with cabochons of black opal that were almost purple in their hue. “And this one as a teaser for Mrs. Neidermeyer while we get her commission ready.”

“That’s beautiful.” They all were, Diana thought. And better than the independent designers they had worked with recently. “And all sellable.”

“We can move them fairly quickly, definitely.” 

“What’s the last one?” Peter hadn’t let her see it yet, which usually meant he was on the fence about selling it.

He handed her the piece in his hand. It was a brooch in an Art Deco design and it took her breath away. The centerpiece was a young girl surrounded by flowers. Diana held it to the light, marveling at the interweave of the different colors of gold – rose, white, yellow, red – and the sparkle of the gems. 

“This is incredible.” She peered closer. “Oh my god, he even set the eyes. Is that sapphire?”

“Yep.” She could hear the satisfaction in Peter’s voice. “With a tiny bit of onyx. Plus an interesting cut of ruby for the lips.”

“Dov’s work.” Diana tilted the pin just so she could see the play of light and color. “Peter, this is fantastic. I’ve never seen this much detail in a piece this size before. And he let you buy it?” She looked up to see Peter with a look on his face that she never liked. “How much?” 

“I offered fifty outright. And no, he didn’t let me buy it – it’s on commission.” Peter ran a hand through his hair. “More of a consolation for the pieces that he wouldn’t sell me.”

“He has better?” Diana raised her eyebrow in skepticism. 

“He has _dragons._ ” Peter stood up and started pacing. Diana could feel the excitement radiating off of him. “Diana they are…” He paused, and she could see him searching for the right description. “…alive.” The words spilled out, tumbling over themselves.

“I’ve never seen anything like them before. The detail was – I don’t know – incredible is too simple a word for it. The scales, the faces, the stones he used. And all different kinds. He had a Chinese dragon, a Greek Drákōn – even a _Y Ddraig Goch_ that I swear looked like my grandfather.” 

He slid back into his chair and waved at the pin in her hand. “Compared to them, that piece is like something you’d find in a gum machine.” Grinning at her, his eyes flashing gold, he said softly. “He gets it, Di.”

Diana was silent, watching Peter vibrate. His skin started to take on a subtle sheen, his face elongating slightly. She was amazed. Peter rarely lost control like this – only when he was angry, excited, or aroused. 

“What’s his name?” Diana needed to get her boss back on track. She planned on doing some research when she got home. She wanted to get a handle on this person that had Peter so worked up.

“Neal Caffrey. He’s a friend of Dov’s who’s presenting at the Festival. He’s meeting me at the store tomorrow at nine.”

“Okay – what did you promise him?” Better to know now what Peter had discussed than be blindsided in the morning. 

Peter rubbed the back of his neck. “Actually, not much.” And there was the blush again. “I…might have told him that I wanted him.”

“Excuse me?” 

“He had a sketchbook and flipped it open to a design he was working on – a desk set – and I might have told him I wanted him…” 

Diana listened as Peter explained what had happened this afternoon. The desk set, the jeweled dragons, the offer to work as The Dragon’s Hoard’s exclusive designer. His motions were animated and he kept grinning like a dragon with a new gemstone. Finally, he wound down and took a sip of wine.

“Okay, so let me make sure I have this. You met him, saw his work, made an inappropriate comment and offered him a job.” She shook her head as Peter nodded. “And he didn’t run away screaming.”

“No, thank god.” Peter met her eyes. “He needs to come and work for us, Diana. He’s beyond talented.” 

A waft of scent trickled past Diana’s nostrils. Smoky, with a touch of burnt cinnamon sugar. She sniffed deeper and quietly chuckled. Peter was presenting, whether he realized it or not. This Neal Caffrey had aroused more than the dragon’s desire for gems and beauty – he’d roused the physical dragon as well. Tomorrow should be very interesting.

“So tomorrow at nine at the store. And it’s my job to make sure he says yes.” She gathered the jewelry and placed it in front of Peter.

“Our job.” Peter sounded relieved as he relaxed in his chair. “And I promise I’ll watch what I say.”

“Good idea.” Diana stood and took the wine glasses to the kitchen. When she returned, Peter was wrapping up the pieces. Diana noticed he left the torque out. “You forgot one.” She held it up for him.

“No, I didn’t. That one I got for you.” 

“Aww – you _do_ love me.” She smiled as she put the torque around her neck and settled it.

“Never said I didn’t. Think of it as a thank you in advance for the renovations you’re going to have to do.” Peter hugged her.

“That works.” She picked up her bag. “Okay, Boss, I’m headed out. See you in the morning.” 

Later driving home, Diana thought about her discussion with Peter and shivered. For all his excitement, she wondered if, for the first time, Peter Burke wasn’t getting in over his head.

The apartment was redolent with the smell of garlic, oregano and onions. Neal sniffed appreciatively as he considered the subtle shades of blue pencils in his collection. He wanted to use a Swiss blue topaz for the eye of the Wyvern he was creating, but he wasn’t sure how deep of a blue he wanted it to be.

“Dinner’s ready, just so you know.” Elizabeth popped her head out of the kitchen. “Pick out the wine if you want some.”

Sighing, Neal closed his sketchbook and moved his supplies off to the side of the dining room table. The dragon’s eye would just have to wait until after dinner. Standing, he stretched, wincing at the tightness in his shoulders, before crouching down to inspect their small cache of reds. Grabbing a Sangiovese, he uncorked it and placed it on the table as Elizabeth came in holding two plates of spaghetti Bolognese. 

“Can you grab the salad and the bread?” She nodded at the kitchen. 

“Sure.” Neal did as she asked and placed the salad bowl and bread in the middle of the table. “Smells great, El. Thanks for cooking.”

“If I didn’t cook, you wouldn’t eat,” she replied as she sat down. 

“True enough.” Neal chuckled. She was right. If it weren’t for Elizabeth’s cooking, he would starve. He served her some salad and broke off the end of the bread, slathering it in the homemade garlic butter. Taking a bite of the spaghetti, he groaned. “God, El, this is fantastic.”

“New recipe. Glad you like it.” She wrapped spaghetti around her fork. “Yup, pretty good.” They ate in silence for a while. “So,” Elizabeth began. “You decided about the job yet?”

“I don’t know, El.” Neal pushed his empty plate away and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s almost too perfect, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah. Exclusive designer for The Dragon’s Hoard, having free rein in designing what you want, smokin’ hot boss that wants to jump your bones, what’s not to love about it?” She grinned when he glared at her. “What? You know I’m right. Peter Burke was practically salivating over you and it wasn’t just because of your designs.”

“Whatever.” Neal could feel the blush creeping up his neck. He knew Elizabeth was right. The way Peter Burke looked at him – like Neal was some sort of gift that he wanted to unwrap – sent shivers down his spine even now.

“Admit it. You thought he was hot.” Elizabeth sopped up the sauce with her garlic bread. “I’d fuck him if he played for my team.” 

“El!” Neal looked askance at her. The things she said sometimes.

“Oh come on. You didn’t even once consider making a move on him?” She bit off the end of her bread and grinned at him while she was chewing.

“Okay, fine. Yes he was hot and yes, I would definitely go there. Except for one thing. He may wind up being my boss.” Neal poured himself a refill.

“That just means he’ll be close at hand for some hot desk sex.” She held out her glass for him to top off.

“Would you stop!” He shook his head. Elizabeth was incorrigible when she got this way.

“Hey. I just want you to be happy.” Taking a drink, she set her glass down and reached out for Neal’s hand. “Seriously, he’s handsome, smart, well-off and most of all, he connected with you.” She waved her other hand around to encompass the apartment. “And he’ll get this – I can feel it.”

Neal looked around his space and acknowledged that again, Elizabeth was right. His apartment was covered in dragons. Books on dragon history and lore, artwork of all kinds – tapestries, prints, sculptures – all were spread out throughout the rooms. He even had some cute stuffed animals that Elizabeth got him as a gag gift ‘to snuggle with’. 

Neal’s eyes fell on the framed print of Raphael’s _Saint George and the Dragon_ hanging over his sofa. It was his favorite of his entire collection. He felt Elizabeth come up behind him and wrap her arms around his shoulders.

“You’re thinking about your mom?” She pressed a kiss to his head.

“Yeah.” Neal leaned back. “Remember when we saved up all our money to order that print for her?”

“Yeah. She was so thrilled.” Elizabeth let go and began clearing the table. 

“She named me after that painting. Didn’t know if you knew that.” Neal rose and grabbed his plate. “My middle name.”

“Really? I don’t think I remember you telling me that before.” Elizabeth scraped the plates into the trash and filled the dishwasher. 

“Yeah. Raphael was her favorite. So that’s how I got ‘George’.” Putting the leftovers into the fridge, he straightened with a grin. “When I was little I thought that Raphael was a friend of hers and he painted that just for me.” He chuckled. “I was so disappointed when I found out it was done in the fifteen hundreds.”

“Neal, I’m crushed.” Elizabeth put a hand to her chest in mock anger. “Here I am – family – and probably your best friend and you _never_ shared that story with me.”

“Sorry…it was just something between me and mom, I guess.” The ache of missing his mother never seemed to ease and he knew his face showed it when Elizabeth wrapped her arms around him. 

“Oh honey, it’s okay.” She hugged him again. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.” 

“You didn’t.” Neal stayed in her arms, regaining his composure, before breaking away with a small smile. “I just miss her, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. I do too.” She squeezed his shoulder. “She would have been so proud of you.” 

“I hope so.” Neal sighed and shook off the melancholy. 

“She would. She always wanted you to do what you loved and this is it. And speaking of doing what you love, it’s my turn. We’ve got to figure out what you’re going to wear to snag the job and the boss.” Elizabeth picked up their wine glasses and headed toward his bedroom. 

Neal chuckled. Snagging another bottle of wine, he followed her. Something told him this was going to be a late night.

The alarm drove splinters of sound into Neal’s brain. Groaning, he rolled over and hit the off button, cursing Elizabeth’s insane need to touch every single item in his closet as they decided what he should wear. And of course his fashion show had to be accompanied by more than one bottle of wine. By the time they were finished, his room looked like Fashion Week had vomited wool and silk over every surface and they were curled up on his bed, tipsy and giggling.

Struggling out from the tangle of covers, he staggered to the shower to wake up and greet the day. The pounding of the hot water started his transformation back to being human. The two cups of Italian Roast and a dose of Advil that followed managed to take the edge off what would have been a blinding headache. 

Neal leaned against the kitchen counter and looked at the clock as he finished the rest of his coffee. Seven forty-five a.m. He had a little over an hour to finish getting ready before heading downtown to meet with Peter.

His cell phone rang – Elizabeth’s ringtone. He chuckled, completely unsurprised that she was calling.

“Good morning, gorgeous.” He put his cup in the sink and headed to his bedroom to get dressed.

 _“I completely hate you right now.”_ Elizabeth’s voice was hoarse. _“Why did you make me drink that last bottle of wine?”_

“I didn’t make you do anything.” Neal grinned as he pulled out a pair of black ManSilk boxer briefs from his drawer. “You did that all on your own.”

 _“I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck,”_ Elizabeth whined. _“Make it go away, Neal.”_

“Advil, lots of water and go back to sleep. I’ll swing by after my meeting with Peter to check on you.” He tucked the phone under his chin while he found his socks and shoes. 

_“Bring me hot and sour soup from Ling’s when you come? Please? It’s the only thing that sounds good.”_ Elizabeth used her puppy dog voice – the one that Neal could never say no to.

“Yes, dear. Anything else?” 

_“A sledgehammer to put me out of my misery?”_ Somehow Elizabeth managed to put pitiful and hopeful in her tone.

“Aww, poor baby. Go take something and go back to bed. I’ll let myself in when I come over.” Tossing the items on the bed, Neal gathered the black pants and thin cashmere sweater they’d chosen last night and placed them next to his underwear and socks. 

_“Okay.”_ Neal heard the bathroom faucet turn on and the rattling of a medicine bottle. _“You’re wearing what we picked out, right?”_

“Yeah, have it on the bed as we speak. Putting you on speaker so I can get dressed.” Neal clicked the button and placed the phone on his nightstand. “I grabbed the black Ferregamo loafers,” he said as he pulled off the bath towel that was around his waist and began to get ready.

 _“Perfect. You will look so hot that Peter Burke won’t know what to do with himself.”_ He heard her laugh then moan. _“Ouch. Okay, I’m going back to bed to die. Don’t forget my soup.”_

“I won’t. See you soon.” Neal reached over and clicked the off button. Dressing quickly, he made a trip to the bathroom to tweak his hair and put on cologne. Slipping on his shoes, he paused by the standing mirror in his bedroom for a final once over. Shoes polished. _Check_. Zipper up. _Check_. Collar even. _Check_. Now all he needed was his case of jewelry and his sketch books.

Neal placed the case on the dining room table and opened it. Choosing the pieces he wanted to show Peter was easy. The dragons, naturally. Peter wanted them as an exhibition case to introduce him as The Dragon’s Hoard’s resident designer. Neal picked his favorites – the Welsh _Y Ddraig Goch_ that Peter had admired, a Japanese dragon made of sapphire and topaz, and a _zmey_ with emerald and black opal scales – as well as a smaller wyvern set in amethyst and gold.

He added an Etruscan-inspired necklace in gold and amber, an Egyptian armband in the shape of a snake with ruby eyes and another Celtic torque, this time with amethyst and diamonds. Rounding out his choices were several pieces of Renaissance-style jewelry in pearls and garnet as well as several silver and gold necklaces and bracelets inspired by the crown of the Chrysler building.

Placing the sketchbooks in with the pieces, Neal closed the case and called the cab service. Headed into the kitchen for another cup of coffee, he thought about his upcoming meeting with Peter Burke. 

The man was flat out gorgeous which was going to make today’s meeting difficult. Neal’s mind conjured up the image of Peter at the booth. Long legs, broad shoulders, strong hands. A flash of those hands holding his hips down as Peter’s tongue swirled around the head of his cock made Neal instantly hard. He closed his eyes and cupped himself, leisurely squeezing his prick as he pictured the two of them, sweaty and aroused, Peter fucking into him, hitting the right spots.

The honk of a horn startled him from his reverie. His cab was here. Neal adjusted himself, hoping that his erection would subside by the time he arrived at The Dragon’s Hoard. Exiting the house and locking the door behind him, he entered the cab and gave the driver the address.

Leaning back against the seat, he felt excitement bubble up in his chest. But the question was – was it for the job or the man? Either way, Neal had an unsettling feeling that his life was about to change.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Burke is a high-end jeweler. When he meets Neal Caffrey, a talented young jewelry designer, it seems like a match made in heaven. But when Neal discovers that Peter is an ancient dragon, it sets in motion a firestorm that neither one may survive.

“Frankly, I’m very disappointed, Mr. Burke.” The thin bleached blonde matron pursed her lips. “I was informed by my friends that this was _the_ place to go for high-end one of a kind items. All I see here are the usual pieces I’ve seen in every other store.”

Diana watched as her boss dealt with the woman in front of him. She was the wife of Henry Templeton, one of the most influential real estate developers in New York. She was a rich bitch who thought that her word was gold and that she should get special treatment from every jeweler in town. Diana didn’t need to see Peter’s face to know that he was trying to keep his temper in check. It was written in the tension of his back and shoulders. 

This woman had never stepped foot in the store before and if Diana had her way the woman would never come back after today.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Mrs. Templeton.” Peter modulated his tone but Diana could still hear the utter contempt he had for her. “Maybe if you could be more specific in terms of what you are looking for?”

“Something unique of course.” This was said in a voice dripping with arrogance. Her demeanor was so annoying that Diana would pay good money to see Peter flame her. There was a rumbling, like distant thunder, and Diana realized Peter was cursing in Draconic. She caught the tail end of his comment and quickly turned her head to snort. It wouldn’t do to let the customers see the lick of fire that shot out of her nose. 

The front door chime brought a subtle change in the atmosphere of the showroom that stole Diana’s attention. She glanced over then did a double take when what had to be the most exquisite man she had ever seen stopped to talk to the security guard-cum-concierge at the door.

Dark hair, perfect cheekbones, perfect smile. Perfect everything, she thought. He was dressed in black slacks and a black silk V-neck sweater. As the salesperson pointed at Peter, Diana glanced at her watch – 8:55 – and realized that Neal Caffrey had just walked into the store. Immediately she understood Peter’s behavior from last night. 

The man looked and smelled delicious. Some sort of citrusy, woodsy smell overlaying a subtle _something_ that made her think Peter had already unconsciously marked him in some way. 

She grinned and moved closer to her boss. This was going to be good and she wanted a front row seat. 

Mrs. Templeton was still going on and on about how she couldn’t find anything remotely suitable for her daughter’s wedding, when Caffrey approached Peter. He paused, listening, and in a voice silky as sin, spoke over Peter’s shoulder. “Excuse me, but I couldn’t help overhearing your comments, ma’am.” 

Peter’s head flew up as he turned to see Neal. The smile on Neal’s face was innocent, but the look in his eye indicated he’d been standing there long enough to hear their conversation. And that he agreed with Peter. Diana liked him already.

“And who are you?” Mrs. Templeton looked him up and down and sniffed. 

Peter jumped in immediately. “This is Neal, my in-house designer.” Diana’s eyes widened at Peter’s blatant lie and she held in her mirth. This was just getting better and better. “He was bringing me some new pieces that you might be interested in.”

“Absolutely.” As Neal turned to place his case on the nearby counter, he gave Peter a wink. “A woman such as yourself definitely has an eye for the unusual.” He smiled, and like magic, Mrs. Templeton was captivated.

Diana watched in utter amazement as Neal charmed the older woman, turning her into a giggling debutante. He flirted shamelessly, listened intently, and within twenty minutes had her convinced that she needed to buy fifty thousand dollars’ worth of jewelry – at retail cost - to wear at her daughter’s wedding. She left, clutching her packages and a dozen of Peter’s business cards, proclaiming that she would never shop anywhere else and that neither would any of her friends.

“Thank God that’s over.” Peter blew out a breath and motioned for Neal and Diana to follow him. “I could use a drink.”

“It’s nine thirty in the morning, boss.” Diana knew where he was headed but teased him anyway. “Don’t you think it’s a bit early for that?”

“It’s never too early for Italian Roast,” Peter commented as they entered the staff break room. “Want a cup, Neal?”

“I’ll never turn down Italian Roast.” Neal leaned against the counter as Peter fired up the Keurig and brought two mugs down from the cupboard. “Diana?” 

She shook her head, heading to the counter to make herself some tea.

“Let’s get the official introductions out of the way. Diana Berrigan, meet Neal Caffrey, the designer I told you about. Diana’s my manager.” Diana watched as Peter leaned in to the other man and whispered, sotto voce. “She keeps me on the straight and narrow. I’m totally terrified of her.”

“Boss!” Diana mock glared at him.

“Nice to meet you.” Smiling, Neal held out his hand. Diana shook it, impressed with his strong grip. 

“Peter’s raved about you. Your work’s remarkable.”

“Thank you.” Neal accepted the cup of coffee and followed Peter to the table.

“Actually, I need to thank _you_ for saving my ass out there just now.” Peter sat down and stretched his legs out in front of him. He took a sip of his coffee and closed his eyes in pleasure. Neal’s gaze raked down Peter’s form, a fact Diana did not fail to notice. It looked like the attraction went both ways. She smiled behind her mug.

“I couldn’t let her leave and spread lies about your store.” Neal rested his elbows on the table. “Now you have a new customer and the potential for more business.”

“That’s why you need to come and work for me. My guess is that she’ll only let you take care of her from now on.” Peter put his cup down and leaned in, his gaze intense. Diana recognized the tone and body language that Peter used when he was negotiating a deal. It’s what usually got him what he wanted. And he wanted Neal. 

“Peter, I’m not sure -,” Neal began, but Peter cut him off.

“I told her you work here, Neal, and I never lie to a customer. What will it take for you to agree to work for me?”

Several emotions flitted across Neal’s face as he took in Peter’s words. Diana could see indecision, excitement, fear, hope. Subtly, she got Peter’s attention and shook her head. He was pushing too hard and if he continued, Neal would bolt, she was sure of it.

Peter took the hint and relaxed, picking up his cup for another drink. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s talk about the dragons. Tell me you brought them.”

“I did.” Neal reached into his jacket pocket and took out several velvet bags. 

Diana held her breath. These were what had sent Peter into a tailspin last night. As Neal revealed them one by one, she felt her own inner dragon stir. They were exactly as Peter had described and she wanted them so badly. Turning to Peter, she saw his hand twitch, aching to touch them.

She watched him look at Neal, silently asking permission to hold one. Neal nodded and placed the Welch Dragon in Peter’s palm. “Beautiful…” Peter breathed reverently. “So beautiful.” His fingers stroked the piece and Diana heard a quick indrawn gasp.

Neal was staring at Peter’s fingers, eyes wide and mouth parted. He shifted and Diana could scent the want rolling off of him in waves. Peter’s head reared up and she could see his nostrils flare and felt the temperature in the room start to increase. She needed to diffuse the situation or Peter would present right in the middle of the break room.

“They are gorgeous. May I?” She pitched her voice, subvocalizing _Stop_. Peter, blinked, shook himself slightly and took a deep breath. 

Diana engaged Neal in discussion while Peter collected himself. Once she knew he was back in control, she stood up, saying, “Maybe we should show Neal his potential workspace?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Peter rose and put his cup into the sink. “Maybe I can entice you to say yes now.”

Diana hung back as the two men walked ahead of her, discussing what Peter was looking for in a designer. Peter was under control, but just barely, and Diana saw the subtle touches, the glances, the discreet posturing, as he attempted to sway Neal’s decision. What was amusing to her was the fact that Neal mirrored Peter’s gestures, head tilted to ask a question, body placed in harmony with the other man. He unconsciously leaned into Peter’s hand as it skimmed over Neal’s back when he let the younger man go first into the space that would be his studio.

They were beautiful together, she thought. Peter in his tailored Armani suit, Neal in black, their emotions charged with enough electricity that she could power Grand Central Station if she could harness it. _God forbid they should ever have sex,_ she chuckled to herself. _They’d level half a city block._

The three of them ended up in the vault in the basement, jewels spread out across the display table. Everything from opals and rubies to emeralds and diamonds were jumbled up in a pile that reminded Diana of a storybook depiction of some mythical dragon’s hoard. Peter and Neal were like two little boys at Christmas, sharing what Santa had brought them.

Peter was picking out several stones and offering them to Neal to look at. If Neal liked one, he put it aside in an ever-growing mound of color. She inhaled sharply when she realized what Peter was doing. Whether he’d realized it or not, he was creating a cache for Neal. The last time she’d seen that happen was when her brother was courting his mate.

In all her time with Peter, she’d never seen him this interested in someone. For a while she’d thought it would happen with David, but -. She shook the memory off. David was the past. And it looked like Neal might be Peter’s future.

“Peter.” Her voice broke into their reverie. “I need to go upstairs and check on things…” Two sets of eyes looked up at her, their colors different, their expressions identical. “Don’t stay down here too long.” She winked at them and left the room.

Sometime later she was finishing up some paperwork when they entered her office. She leaned back in her chair and regarded the two men. Peter had a smile on his face, which told her that Neal had accepted the other man’s offer.

“So, how much is this going to set us back?” Diana made sure to pitch her tone so that Neal knew she was teasing.

“Not too terribly much.” Peter perched on the edge of her desk. “Neal’s agreed to let us display his dragons as an exhibit here in the store. In return, he’s signing on as a consultant. That way he can still create items that are not exclusively for The Dragon’s Hoard.” 

Diana glanced at Neal with a wry look. “But we have first refusal, right?”

“Of course.” Neal’s eyes glittered with humor. 

“I’ll need for you to order the supplies and tools we discussed earlier so they can be shipped as soon as possible.” As Peter began listing the items, Diana waved him off.

“Already done, boss. I put a rush on them and they’ll be here Tuesday.” She smiled widely at Neal’s laugh.

“How’d you know I would take the position?” Neal asked her. 

“Instinct.” _And pheromones_ , she thought to herself.

“This is why she’s in charge,” Peter said with a chuckle. “I’m just window dressing.”

“You definitely do your job well.” Neal’s gaze traveled up and down Peter’s body and he blushed. Looking at his watch, he said, “I need to go. Elizabeth is manning the booth at Lincoln Center all by herself and you know how the Friday crowds are.” 

“I do.” Peter nodded. “So I’ll see you tonight at seven for dinner and we can go over the final details?”

“Absolutely.” Neal held out his hand for Peter to shake. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Great. I’ll let Rico know to send you up when you get here.” The two men shook hands, and Diana scented the marking that Peter placed on Neal. “This is going to be a great partnership, I can feel it.”

“Me too. Diana, it was a pleasure to meet you.” Neal shook her hand.

“Let me walk you out.” Peter placed his hand low on Neal’s back. His fingers splayed out in a very possessive gesture that echoed the behavior he’d exhibited all morning. If any of their kin were around Lincoln Center today, they’d know to stay far away from Neal Caffrey.

Diana watched them head to the door, exchange a few words, then Neal was gone. Peter walked back to her with a definite strut in his step.

“Your alpha dragon is showing,” she murmured, falling into step with him as they climbed the stairs to his office. 

Peter had the grace to blush. “Yeah, I know. Thank you,” he said and she knew he meant about her warning. 

“No problem.” She chuckled. “Oh and Peter…dinner? You sure that’s wise?” She quirked an eyebrow.

“It’s just dinner, Di. Nothing is going to happen.” Peter looked at her, his face open, like he really believed his words.

“Really, Peter?” She stopped at his desk. “You really think you can sit through dinner with that man – who you _marked_ on his way out the door, by the way – and nothing will happen?”

Peter was silent. Diana sighed and took pity on him. Putting her hand on his arm, she squeezed it gently. “Boss, I understand why you’re attracted to him. Just be careful, okay?”

“I’m not sure I can, Di.” Peter’s voice was quiet. “He’s….” He motioned helplessly to her. “I don’t know.” 

And that was the problem. Neal Caffrey was an unknown variable and that never played out well in Diana’s experience. She decided she would err on the side of caution and watch Peter’s back. In the meantime…

“So, what do you plan to wear tonight?” she asked her boss. 

Peter laughed as he picked up a file. “Honestly? I have no idea…”

The wind ruffled Neal’s hair as he climbed out of the cab. It was peaceful - the few sounds were of the traffic in the distance. His feet sunk slightly into the grass as he walked amongst the gravestones. He stopped in front of a simple marker – no embellishments, just granite with _Julia Caffrey Bennett_ etched in the stone and _1959-1988_ underneath it.

He knelt down and placed a bouquet of mixed flowers at the base of the grave. “Hi, mom.”

Neal took a deep breath and began to speak. “I got a job today, mom. I’m now the designer for The Dragon’s Hoard.” He chuckled. “You’d love it. Their jewelry is magnificent.”

A bird flew by, trilling for its mate. 

“They want me for my dragons. Peter Burke, the owner, saw a sketch and wanted to hire me on the spot.” Neal smiled. “I took a page from your book, though, and didn’t say yes right away.” 

Neal remembered when he was about eight and Billy, the neighbor boy, wanted to trade him for his bike. His mom said to wait until he saw what Billy was offering before he let him take it. Which was a good thing because Billy’s bike was stolen from the bully two streets away and Neal would have gotten into a lot of trouble.

“I went to the store today and they showed me where I would be working. Peter and his assistant Diana gave me the tour.”

Neal ran a hand through his hair and laughed in disbelief. “Mom, you would be amazed. They’re going to set me up with brand new equipment and I get to make stuff that I don’t necessarily have to sell through the store. Peter said…” He trailed off as he thought of the man who hired him.

“Peter said that whatever I needed they would get for me. They have the best stones, mom. Peter showed me their vault downstairs. It’s like a dragon’s treasure. And Peter? He’s like the dragon that watches over all of it.”

Neal fell silent, thinking about how to describe Peter to his mother. “He’s handsome, mom. Tall, dark hair, dark eyes, great smile.” He ran his hand over his mother’s stone. “He reminds me of the stories you used to tell me, mom. About the dragons? If I had to create a dragon it would be Peter.”

Neal laughed at himself. “Yeah, if you were here you’d say I had a crush on him. And you’re probably right. He’s definitely different. But I’ll be careful, I promise.”

Neal pressed a kiss on his fingers and placed it on the top of the gravestone. “I miss you, mom, so much,” he whispered, a tear running down his face. “I’ve gotta go, the cab’s waiting. I’ll be back soon.”

He turned quickly and headed to the vehicle, not seeing the man watching him from a distance.

He was just about to get into the cab when he heard a voice. 

“Neal? Neal Bennett?”

_Bennett_? No one had called him that since before his mother died. Instinctively, he looked up to see a man standing in front of him, backlit by the sunshine. Squinting to get a better look, Neal didn’t recognize him. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. “I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong person.” Whether he did or not, something told Neal to be cautious. He was, after all, practically alone in a cemetery.

“That’s right, you’re Neal Caffrey now. Julia changed your name after James died.” 

Neal tensed. Very few people knew that his mom had changed their last name after his father had been killed. “How do you know that?”

“Your dad and I were partners on the force together. I was with him when he was murdered. I’m Sam.” The man moved out of the sun and Neal could see his face. Wide and pleasant, his deep blue eyes were highlighted by a lock of grey hair that had fallen on his forehead. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The man – Sam – gave him a small smile. “I stopped by to visit James.” He gestured to the grave next to Neal’s mother’s. As simple as hers, it just had _James Bennett_ and the dates. “This is the first time I’d seen someone at their graves, and when I realized who you were I wanted to talk to you.”

“Why?” Neal had never heard of this man before. His father had died when he was three and his mother never really spoke about him or any part of her life before then. When Neal had asked, she shut down and he learned not to bring it up.

“Because I wanted to see you again. And because I promised your father that I would look after you.”

“See me again?” Neal’s felt like his brain was shutting down and all he could do was repeat what Sam was saying.

Sam chuckled. “The last time I actually saw you, you were about three I think, and you were playing with your dad’s police hat.”

Neal dimly recalled that, but he wasn’t sure if it was a real memory or if it was from the picture he’d found in his mom’s things after she died.

“Your dad and I were really close. Partners usually are. He had me promise that I would watch over you and your mom if anything ever happened to him.” 

Neal watched Sam as he spoke, looking for any sort of deception. If that were the case, why had he never seen this person before? Those thoughts translated to words. “Why should I believe you? As far as I know, I’ve never seen you before today. If my father wanted you to look after us, where have you been?”

Sighing, Sam ran a hand through his hair. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a photo and handed it to Neal. 

It was one of those early 1970s photographs that had faded with age, but Neal could see the people in it clearly. It was his father with his arm around Neal’s mother. Seated next to them was a very much younger Sam, beer bottle in hand and wide grin on his face. They all looked so happy. “How much do you remember about when your dad died?” 

Neal combed through his memories of that time. There were bits and pieces of arguments, images of packing up their house and moving to a different place but nothing concrete. “Not much,” he admitted. 

“It was a rough time. Your mom was a mess and blamed the Department for your dad’s death. She wanted nothing to do with the police or me.” He shrugged. “I respected her decision, but I kept tabs on you both. Just in case.” Sam laughed. “I was even able to sneak you some small presents. Remember that baseball glove you got when you were eight?”

Neal did. It was the highlight of his birthday that year. It had showed up on his doorstep – no return address, just Neal’s name. His mom almost wouldn’t let him keep it, but he begged until she’d relented. “That was you?”

“Yeah. I figured every boy needed a baseball glove.” Sheepishly, Sam grinned. “So…would you be interested in maybe going to get a beer? I’d really like to tell you about your dad.” 

Neal considered the man in front of him. Here was a link to the father he’d never really known, a man his mother never spoke about. He smiled back at Sam.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

The sun sent rays of light through the glass doors of the balcony as Peter finished setting the dining room table. He’d debated on using his antique dishes but decided they would look like he was trying too hard.

Stepping back, he surveyed the table, satisfied with the look. Tuscan-style stoneware in a mix of amber and buttery yellow graced the creamy white linen tablecloth. Solid plain silverware offset the crystal glasses, giving the space a warm, welcoming look. He lit the low pillar candles on the mantle to add just a bit more atmosphere and went to check on the food in the kitchen.

The scents that greeted him as he entered the kitchen made his mouth water. Since the dinner was a spur of the moment decision, he’d called his favorite caterers and ordered the Chateaubriand with béarnaise sauce, chateau potatoes and roasted asparagus. All he had to do was keep it warm in the oven and serve.

He’d left work early when Diana threatened to eviscerate him with her spoon if he didn’t stop pacing. He chuckled dryly, remembering her comment. _You are driving me nuts, Peter. For God’s sake, go upstairs and bake something!_

She’d always teased him about his stress baking, but never turned down the results. This evening’s self-soothing item turned out to be a rustic raspberry and apricot tart. He checked to see if he still had some of the home-made vanilla bean ice cream from the mom and pop store around the corner – it would go well with the tart.

Pleased that all the dinner elements were ready, he took a quick shower and dressed for the evening. Black light wool pants, an off-white linen shirt and leather slip ons completed the outfit. Casual, yet classic. Peter patted on a bit of Terre d'Hermès, ran a comb through his hair and headed out of the bathroom. He convinced himself that he didn’t really check to see if the bed was suitably made because he had no plans to end up there this evening. None at all.

He checked his watch – six forty-five. Neal should be here any moment. A quick glance at his wine rack had him pulling out a 1983 St. Estèphe to serve with the meal. Cognac would come later if they felt like having some with dessert. 

The building intercom buzzed. Bottle in hand, Peter toggled the switch. “This is Burke.”

_“Good evening, Mr. Burke. Your guest is here.”_ Rico’s voice sounded tinny through the speaker. Peter made a mental note to upgrade the system. 

“Thanks, Rico. Send him up.” Peter unlocked the front door and pulled it open slightly. That way Neal could come in without having to wait. Setting the wine on the table, he hurried into the kitchen to grab the wine opener. Returning to the main room, he set the opener on the table.

“Hello?” Neal’s voice was hesitant. Peter glanced over and saw him silhouetted in the doorway. 

“C’mon in. Just finishing up.” Peter’s pulse raced at the fact that Neal was in his apartment. It was like every nerve ending was on overdrive as soon as he heard Neal’s voice. Taking a deep breath, he turned to greet the other man. 

Peter’s mouth dried up and his cock stirred as Neal smiled and walked towards him, the rays from the windows streaking his brown hair with hints of gold. Neal was dressed casually – his silk shirt a deep emerald green, black jeans clinging to his thighs and hips. Peter wanted to skip dinner, peel those jeans off and lick him all over.

Neal held up a bottle of wine. “I didn’t know what we were having for dinner so I brought a Malbec. I hope that’s okay.” He smiled.

“What?” Peter realized suddenly that he was staring. “Oh, yeah. That’s perfect. We’re having Chateaubriand.” He took the wine and prayed that his hands were not shaking too obviously as he set it on the table next to the other bottle. “Um, sit.” He gestured to the couch. “I just need to check on the meal.” He hurried toward the kitchen. 

“Do you need any help?” Neal was right behind him, smelling of woods and rain and _sin_. Peter needed to adjust himself if he was going to make it through the meal, but having Neal right there was not giving him the opportunity.

“Why don’t you open the wine.” _Please, God stay in the main room and open the wine_ , he thought.

“Any preference?” Neal moved over to the table, giving Peter some breathing room. He gulped in some air, trying to cleanse Neal from his nostrils in hopes that his erection would die down even the least little bit.

“No. We’ll probably wind up drinking both bottles.” The first thing Peter did when he entered the kitchen was run his hands under the cold water from the sink. Then he thought about anything and everything he could to get his cock to stop standing at attention. It seemed to work – he could walk somewhat normally now.

He busied himself with slicing and placing the tenderloin on the platter, surrounding it with the potatoes and asparagus. Neal had poured the wine already and Peter placed the platter in the middle of the table.

“Peter, this looks delicious,” Neal commented once they had seated themselves. 

“I can’t take credit for it,” Peter said with a wry grin. “I called the catering company we use for events and ordered it because I knew I wouldn’t have time to cook a full meal today.” He motioned for Neal to hold out his plate so Peter could serve him. “But the dessert is all mine. Raspberry and apricot tart with vanilla bean ice cream.”

“You bake?” 

“Stress bake, actually,” he confessed with a blush. “Helps relax me.”

“Why were you stressed?” Neal’s eyes were questioning.

Peter hesitated, considering his words. The truth was that Neal affected him in ways he didn’t want to acknowledge and he was walking on the razor’s edge of control. Telling Neal that would be the absolute wrong thing to do. “Just nervous that you might reconsider our agreement.” 

“I think it’s safe to say that I’m not going to back out.” Neal grinned. “Your offer is way too tempting to pass up.”

“Good. Good.” Peter smiled to himself. He filled his plate with meat and vegetables. Lifting his glass, he said, “To a satisfying and successful partnership.”

“Salut,” Neal replied, clinking glasses. “I can’t wait to try this food.” He took a bite of the tenderloin and moaned in appreciation. “This is fabulous.”

“Glad you like it.” Peter was thrilled that Neal was enjoying the meal and he was almost successful in banishing the little voice inside that was contemplating how to get Neal to make that sound again. Without the food. 

The evening passed swiftly, the conversation flowing as easily as the wine. They argued over baseball and art and politics. Peter was captivated by Neal – his hands, his smile, his intelligence. Neal gave as good as he got, launching into a spirited discussion on why Montgomery Clift was one of the foremost actors of his time. 

Before Peter knew it, it was nearing ten o’clock. They’d made a dent in the tart which Neal swore was like eating a slice of heaven, and Peter was clearing the dinner dishes to the kitchen. He’d stacked them for later, not wanting to waste time with housekeeping.

Returning to the main room, he saw Neal standing at the balcony doors, looking out at the heat lightning that was signaling a possible summer storm.

“It’s beautiful out tonight.” The younger man turned his head, his face half in shadow. “The lightning? When I was little, my mother used to tell me that it was dragons riding on the clouds.” 

Mesmerized by Neal’s voice, Peter leaned in to scent him, cock stirring against his pants. He stepped closer, wanting to touch Neal, fighting himself not to. There was another flash of lightning and a distant roll of thunder. The lights in Peter’s apartment flickered and dimmed.

“What else did she say about dragons?” Peter’s voice was a hoarse whisper.

“That if I were lucky, I’d ride one of my own.” 

With a growl, Peter lunged forward, spinning Neal around and shoving him up against the glass. He slammed his lips against Neal’s, demanding entrance. Neal moaned as Peter plundered his mouth, tongue frantic to taste every inch. The wine, the dessert, _Neal_ \- the flavors thrilled his senses “God, you taste so good…” he muttered.

“Peter…” Neal’s voice brought him back to reality. With a start, Peter realized what he was doing. Immediately he released Neal, backing away. “Oh, God! I’m sorry.” _Shit_! He’d fucked everything up.

“No, Peter.” Neal’s voice brought him out of his thoughts. He looked at the other man, hair disheveled from where Peter had run his hands through it. His eyes were dark, his breathing ragged. His arousal was rolling off him in waves, calling to Peter’s dragon. 

Neal wanted him. He hadn’t screwed up.

Peter crowded Neal back against the glass, but this time the other man took control, yanking Peter’s head down, with a breathy, “Oh, God, yes,” before slanting their mouths together.

Peter caged Neal in between his arms, reveling in the press of the other man’s body against his. They slotted together perfectly, thighs aligned, cocks teasing each other to hardness. Neal’s erection was a solid, large weight against Peter’s leg. He wanted to strip Neal down and see it, ready and aching for him. Peter groaned at the image.

“Fuck, Neal,” Peter muttered against Neal’s lips. “Want you. Wanted you since I saw you yesterday.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Neal’s hands started unbuttoning Peter’s shirt. “Wanted you, too.”

Peter helped him, pulling his shirt out of his pants. He started with Neal’s buttons but got frustrated. “I’ll buy you another shirt,” as he tore it open, buttons flying in all directions. He bunched it up and tossed it in the corner. “Oh _FUCK_!” Peter’s mouth dried up as he gazed at Neal’s chest.

Neal was pierced. With dragons.

The nipple rings glinted in the light. White gold, they were dragons in a mating flight, their bodies intertwined, tails piercing Neal’s skin. The larger one had chocolate diamonds for eyes, while the smaller one’s eyes were a clear aquamarine. Peter’s breath caught as they moved against Neal’s body, appearing alive. He reached out a hand to touch, but paused.

“Can I..?” Neal nodded, eyes dark. Peter ran his thumb across them, causing Neal’s nipple to harden into tight peaks.

Neal’s breath hitched. He grabbed Peter’s fingers, using them to pinch his nipple. “Harder, God, please.” Peter watched Neal’s body shudder as he tugged on the rings, squeezing Neal’s nipple until he whimpered, hips rubbing against Peter’s body. 

Peter bent his head and took Neal’s nipple into his mouth, tugging with his teeth, sucking and biting, flipping the ring with his tongue until the nub was blood red. He did the same with the other, matching them up perfectly.

Neal’s response was almost his undoing. Whimpering and moaning, he caressed Peter’s head, begging him to suck harder, to bite down, telling him how good it felt. Peter’s cock was rock hard, tenting his pants. 

He willed his erection to calm a bit as he let go of Neal’s nipples and kissed up his chest to his neck. Neal writhed against Peter, grinding their dicks together. “God, Peter, so good.”

Grabbing his ass, Peter hauled Neal up and wrapped his legs around his waist. Half a dozen steps and Neal was on the edge of the dining room table. “Too many clothes,” Peter growled, making quick work of Neal’s belt and popping open the button fly of his jeans. “I need you naked.”

Neal’s head fell back as he thrust his hips into Peter’s hands. “Yeah, want your hands on me.” Peter heard shoes hit the floor and grinned. He wrestled Neal’s jeans off and tossed them aside. Pressing him down so Neal was resting on his elbows, he allowed himself to really look for the first time that evening.

Neal was exquisite. A sheen of sweat made his skin glisten, nipple rings reflecting the light. Silk underwear cradled his hard cock, the tip peaking out slightly, outlining it for Peter’s gaze. Peter licked his lips – he wanted that cock in his mouth, wanted to make Neal fall apart.

Looking up at Neal’s face, he saw him smirk. “Like what you see?” Neal asked, before stretching out further on the table and widening his thighs.

_Oh my God - the little shit was posing_! Accepting the challenge, Peter lunged in, trapping Neal partially under his body. “You wanna play like that?” Peter thrust against him, circling his hips as he licked a stripe up Neal’s neck. “Be careful what you wish for, Neal.” 

Moving back, he held Neal down on the table with one hand, pulling Neal’s underwear off with the other. Neal’s cock bounced back against his stomach, flushed, wet and throbbing. Without stopping, Peter wrapped his lips around Neal’s erection, sucking the head into his mouth, playing with Neal’s balls.

“ _FUCK!_ ” Neal shouted, trying to arch up. Peter held him down, not allowing any movement as he scraped Neal’s shaft with his teeth. Tonguing his slit, Peter let the moisture from his mouth coat his fingers before skating them down behind Neal’s balls and circling his hole.

Teasing a fingertip in, just so, he played with Neal’s ass, thrilled to feel him shudder, unable to rock his hips, helpless as Peter took his time, ratcheting up Neal’s arousal.

Neal was sobbing, begging him to let him come, cursing him for a bastard, legs splayed, hands desperately seeking for something to clutch on to.

With one last swirl of his tongue around the head of Neal’s cock, Peter pulled off. Seeing Neal completely wrecked, he chuckled low and dirty. “The only way you’re going to come tonight is when I fuck you through the mattress.” 

In a swift move, he grabbed Neal, flipping him over his shoulder as he stalked into his bedroom. Tossing him onto the bed, Peter gave Neal his own smirk as he quickly undressed. 

“Holy Fuck, Peter!” Neal was looking at his cock, mouth open. He knew he was larger than most, but the awe in Neal’s eyes made him preen just a bit. 

Crawling onto the bed, he began kissing up Neal’s chest, stopping to enjoy Neal’s whimpers as he played with those gorgeous nipple rings again. “Love these, love the sounds you make when I pull on them…”

“Oh god, Peter…like that…” Neal’s back arched, lining their dicks up. Circling his hips again, Peter created the right friction that shot electrical pulses throughout his body. He knew Neal was feeling the same when he wrapped his legs around Peter and pulled him in tighter. He nibbled on Neal’s earlobe and whispered in a guttural voice, “I want to be inside you…wanna open you up with my fingers…get you ready to take my cock…can I do that Neal?“

Neal moaned. “Yes, God yes!”

“Don’t move.” Peter sat up and rummaged in the nightstand for a condom and lube. Looking at Neal, flushed and needy, his for the taking, he couldn’t help himself. “God you’re beautiful.” He reached down and caressed Neal’s cheek, his lips, before running his hand down Neal’s body. 

Flipping the cap, Peter poured slick onto his fingers and reached down to Neal’s hole. “Spread your legs more, I want to see this.” Slowly he guided one finger inside, then two, scissoring them slightly. 

Neal hissed, but quickly said, “Don’t stop, feels good.” Peter crooked his fingers, gliding across Neal’s prostate, listening to him gasp in pleasure.

In and out, Neal’s whimpers of pleasure and “...there...right there…” and Peter’s “so beautiful for me like this…” the only sounds in the room.

Peter slid a third finger in next to the first two, stretching the muscles, getting Neal ready to take him. His cock was straining, hard and weeping. He wanted to be inside Neal now. 

“Peter…” Neal’s voice was hoarse. “Now, need you now.” The condom was unwrapped and in his hand. Peter canted his hips, groaning quietly as Neal rolled it down onto his erection.

He met Neal’s eyes. “Ready?” he asked.

“Past.” Neal wrapped his hands around his thighs and opened himself up more, offering himself to Peter.

Peter lined himself up and pushed slowly in, stopping when Neal tensed, then moving again until he was seated completely inside. Neal was hot and tight, muscles fluttering around his cock. The sensation was incredible. He bent over Neal and kissed him, rocking his hips, stretching Neal around his girth. 

“So full…” Neal moaned. “Feels so good.”

They moved in tandem, Peter pulling out to the edge, then thrusting back in as Neal met him, his legs wrapped around him, coaxing Peter in deeper with every stroke. Peter keeping Neal just this side of coming. 

He could stay like this forever. Neal underneath him, begging softly, brokenly to fuck him harder.

“Please, Peter…wanna come…” Neal’s eyes were dark, pleading as he bucked his hips.

“Remember when I promised you’d the only way you’d come is by me fucking you through the mattress?” Neal nodded frantically. Peter smiled and shifted, hooking Neal’s legs over his shoulders. He sped up his strokes, hitting Neal’s prostate with every thrust. “C’mon, Neal…wanna hear you scream.”

“Oh god…Peter...fuck.” Peter felt Neal’s orgasm, his muscles clenching around Peter’s cock as he came. Peter pounded into him like a jackhammer, reveling in Neal’s moans, his come filling the condom as he blacked out for a split second. 

Slowing down, he milked the last vestiges of his orgasm out of his spent cock, hands on either side of Neal’s head. Completely lethargic, he collapsed onto Neal and buried his face in his neck. “Fuck, that was fantastic.”

“Yeah…” Neal sounded completely sated. 

They lay there for a moment before Peter carefully pulled out and disposed of the condom. Kissing Neal, he headed to the bathroom for a damp washcloth. When he returned, he found Neal asleep, sprawled out on his back, his belly sticky with semen. It was the most gorgeous sight Peter had ever seen. 

Chuckling, he wiped Neal down and managed to pull the covers out from under him. Crawling in behind him, Peter tucked him under his chin. Closing his eyes, he fell asleep to soft sounds of Neal’s breathing and the scent of the two of them on his skin.

The first thing Neal was aware of when he woke up was the difference in the bed. This one was bigger and softer than his. The next thing was the delicious ache of being well fucked. He stretched, feeling the burn of his muscles, his ass, the twinge deep inside. Peter was definitely -.

 _Fuck_. Neal sat up, his gut churning. He’d slept with Peter Burke. His boss. Before he’d even started his new job. He was _so_ screwed. He realized Peter was not in the room and he was alone.

Neal shifted to the side of the bed and put his head in his hands. He could have, _should_ have said no. But Peter was just so overwhelming he made Neal dizzy.

Neal had almost come in his pants when he had entered the apartment and seen Peter dressed in his black pants and white linen shirt. He’d wanted to nibble down his jaw and worship the mole at the base of Peter’s throat. Neal’s dick stirred again just thinking about it. 

Then Peter had to go and throw a curveball by acting almost shy and uncertain. A far cry from his attitude this morning at the store. Peter’s sheepish grin when they discussed the dessert had Neal wanting to reassure him that everything was going to be fine. 

Dinner was fascinating. Neal could have listened to Peter read the phone book, he was that turned on by the man’s voice. And Peter was smart. Neal liked smart. Smart was sexy. And Peter had sexy down to a science.

Neal ran a hand through his hair, thinking about how they’d gone from cordial discussion over the Chateaubriand to the hottest sex Neal had ever had. He still couldn’t figure out how things had turned so quickly. One moment he was standing at the balcony doors, the next he was splayed out over the dining room table with his cock in Peter’s mouth.

He had to leave, had to get out and clear his head, to figure out what to say to Peter to not get fired. Because he didn’t think Peter was the type to sleep with his employees. Neal looked for his clothes, his stomach sinking when he remembered that they were strewn across the main room of Peter’s apartment.

Looking around the room, he saw the shirt Peter had worn at dinner. It would have to do. Slipping it on, he walked slowly out of the bedroom.

The main room was in shadows, the only light coming from the fire in the living room area. Drawn towards the light, Neal approached the couch to see Peter, glass in hand, staring at the flames.

He was naked.

The flickering light highlighted his skin, making it look like velvet fire until the shadows hid it away. Each muscle was defined, sinuous. Neal watched him sip from the glass, then rest it on his leg. He looked powerful, dangerous, limbs stretched out, cock half hard against his thigh. Neal wanted to climb in between Peter’s thighs and taste him. He closed his eyes on that fantasy, trying to will his own cock to behave.

He must have made some noise, some movement, because Peter raised his head, nose twitching as if he were testing the air. He put the glass down on the end table and spoke. 

“Neal…”

“Peter.” Neal didn’t know what else to say. He walked slowly over to where the other man was seated and looked down at him. Peter had a half smile on his face, which Neal took to be a good sign. Maybe he could salvage this after all.

“Damn, you look good in my shirt.” 

_Wait, what?_ That was the last thing Neal expected Peter to say. “What?” 

“I said…” Peter leaned forward and slid his hand around Neal’s leg, bringing him into the vee of his body. “…that you look damn good in my shirt.” He ran the flat of his fingers lightly over Neal’s hips, up over his stomach to his nipples. Neal whimpered when he tugged on his rings. His nipples were still sore from Peter’s earlier attention. “But my guess is that you’d look damn good in anything of mine.” Peter stroked his hands across Neal’s asscheeks, urging him closer. He began kissing Neal’s hip and swirling his tongue into Neal’s belly button. 

“Peter,” Neal began, but the other man made a shushing noise against Neal’s skin.

“Please don’t. This has nothing to do with your job.” Neal felt Peter nip his stomach with his teeth, then lave the sting away. “We’ll deal with that in the morning.”

“But you’re my boss. I don’t want…”

“Neal.” Peter leaned back and regarded him with an expression of fond exasperation. “I knew what I was doing this evening. Your job is not contingent on you sleeping with me. I wanted you – it was that simple.” He skated his hand across Neal’s balls, sending electrical pulses to Neal’s rapidly hardening cock. “Now, stop interrupting me while I try to seduce you again.”

Neal moaned, feeling the hot, wet suction of Peter’s mouth as he swirled his tongue in the slit of Neal’s dick before slowly closing his lips around the head. “Oh God, Peter!” Closing his eyes, he bucked his hips forward, trying to get more of himself into Peter’s mouth. Peter obliged, sliding his lips down Neal’s shaft, tonguing the vein on the bottom. His hands spread Neal’s asscheeks, letting his finger tease Neal’s hole. 

Neal braced himself, hand on Peter’s shoulder as Peter scraped his teeth lightly up and down Neal’s cock. “Yeah…fuck…” He let out a breathy whimper as Peter played with his hole, promising but intentionally not delivering. 

“Fuck, don’t play with me, Peter!” Neal gasped, pressing back onto Peter’s hand. Humming in amusement, Peter pushed against Neal’s rim. His finger slid in easily, Neal still open from earlier. “Right there!” Sparks exploded behind his eyelids when Peter grazed his prostate. “Again!”

Adding a second one, Peter fucked him with his fingers while he sucked Neal’s cock. Just like before, he tortured Neal with pressure and pace, bringing him to the edge, then backing off. Finally, Neal couldn’t take any more. “God, Peter, stop.” 

Peter pulled off and looked at Neal, concern in his eyes. “You okay?” He slipped his fingers out of Neal. 

“Yeah. I just want…” Neal paused, trying to regain his sanity.

“What do you want, Neal?”

“I want to taste you.”

Peter’s eyes darkened. “I’m all yours.” Leaning back, he presented himself to Neal, a smile that was pure debauchery on his face. Running his fingers up his thigh, Peter framed his cock with his hand and nodded slightly, inviting Neal to do what he wanted. Neal licked his lips and slowly dropped to his knees, his eyes never leaving Peter’s. 

He spread Peter’s thighs more, feeling the wiry hairs of the other man’s legs tickle his thumbs. Peter’s fingers caught on the side of Neal’s neck and pulled him gently towards him. Hoarsely he spoke. “God, Neal, so beautiful kneeling in front of me like that. Want to feel your mouth on me.”

Neal rubbed his face against Peter’s thigh, feeling the muscles bunch at his touch. He nosed along Peter’s cock, nostrils flaring, drinking in the scent that was pure Peter. Slipping his tongue out, he tasted the dark place between Peter’s thigh and balls, taking immense satisfaction in Peter’s hiss. 

Leaning back, he looked up at Peter. Eyes lidded, he was staring at Neal with a lust-blown gaze. Glancing down, he saw Peter’s cock straining towards him, ruddy and thick, precome beginning to pearl along the slit. 

He wanted this man’s cock in his mouth – wanted to taste it, wanted to feel it press against the back of his throat. But Peter was large – long and gloriously thick - and Neal knew it would be difficult to take all of him. “Hold it for me.” _Offer yourself to me._

Peter wrapped his hand around the base of his erection, presenting it to Neal like a gift. Neal encircled Peter’s hand with both of his, squeezing, feeling the throb of blood as Peter filled even further. Dipping his head, he tongued Peter’s slit, the salty taste exploding over his taste buds. He slid his mouth down Peter’s cock and heard the man groan as he buried his nose into their joined hands.

Sliding up and down, he set a slow pace, worshiping Peter’s cock as he inched down further and further. Peter’s other hand fluttered around his temple, running through his hair, urging him to take him deeper into his throat.

Neal had no idea how much time had passed as he lost himself in the taste and feeling of Peter’s cock in his mouth. He felt the head of Peter’s dick finally hit the back of his throat. Humming, he swallowed the tip, massaging it with his throat muscles. 

“Oh, fuck, Neal!” Peter’s body was vibrating and Neal knew he was trying not to shove up into Neal’s throat and hurt him. He hummed again, chuckling softly as he heard Peter curse. “You need to stop that or I’m going to come.”

Neal met Peter’s eyes, asking the question without words. “No, I want be fucking you when I come.”

Gently Neal pulled off, Peter’s dick bobbing, glistening with his saliva. His voice raspy, he asked, “How do you want me?” 

“Your choice.” Legs splayed, Peter lightly stroked his cock, keeping it hard, on display for Neal, he was sure. 

“Here, like this. I want to ride you.” Neal reveled in the hitch of Peter’s breath and the stutter of his stroke. 

“God damn it, Neal, you’re going to kill me.” Peter looked down at him, and Neal swore his eyes started glowing.

Neal chuckled. Raising up, he pulled Peter’s head down for a deep kiss. Licking into his mouth, he murmured, “We wouldn’t want that to happen.” 

“Mmhmm…” Peter grabbed the fabric of the shirt Neal was wearing and pulled him closer. “But if I have to go….”

“Yeah.” Neal lost himself in their kiss, Peter’s hands caressing him through the linen. “God, Peter, need you inside me.” Pulling back, he brought three fingers up to Peter’s mouth. Peter sucked them in, soaking them thoroughly with saliva, before letting them go with a ‘plop.’ 

Neal leaned back on his haunches. “Watch.”

He reached around himself and slowly pushed one finger, then two, inside. The stretch felt so good, especially knowing he was opening himself up for Peter’s cock. 

“So fucking hot…” Peter groaned, licking his lips like he wanted to devour Neal. “Can you feel it? Stretching yourself for me?”

“Yeah.” Three fingers now, the burn delicious. Neal closed his eyes, head tilted back as he heard Peter whisper how good it was going to be, his cock fucking Neal’s ass, filling him up. He whimpered as he grazed his prostate, his dick bouncing as he thrust his fingers deeper inside himself. 

Opening his eyes to half slits, he saw Peter working himself, licking his hand and sliding it up and down his dick. His gaze locked on Neal’s cock, he growled in frustration. “Neal, if you don’t come up here right now, it’s going to be all over.”

The authority in Peter’s voice sent thrills down Neal’s spine. Pulling his fingers out, he climbed up onto the couch and straddled Peter. 

Peter’s cock nestled in his asscheeks, rubbing lightly over his hole as he claimed Peter’ mouth again. Neal whimpered as Peter thumbed his nipples. Gasping for air against Peter’s lips, he moaned, “Need you to fuck me now, Peter.” Neal broke their kiss. “Condom?”

“Fuck. In the bedroom.” Peter’s comment was not what Neal wanted to hear. He was so on the edge, the head of Peter’s dick nudging his ass, promising exquisite pleasure. Neal whined in frustration. 

“Neal, do you trust me?”

“What?” Peter was asking him a question. 

“I’m clean, do you trust me?” Peter cupped his face, his eyes dark with lust but also concern. “We can stop -.”

“No. I trust you.” As the words left his mouth, Neal knew they were true. He _did_ trust Peter. “I’m clean too.” 

“So it’s okay?” 

“Fuck, Peter. More than okay.” Neal rocked back and forth, feeling Peter’s cock catch the rim of his hole. “Need you, now. God please.”

“Okay.” Peter licked his fingers, coating them with moisture before snaking around and teasing Neal’s hole. Neal felt him steady his dick, lining it up with Neal’s pucker.

Neal raised up and positioned himself over Peter’s cock. Slowly he sank down, the head of Peter’s dick meeting resistance then popping through.

_Ohmygodohmygod!_ Neal had never gone bareback with any of his lovers before. The heat, the throbbing, the closeness as Peter slid inside him, filling him up was like nothing he’d ever experienced.

“Oh, god.” Helpless at the sensations coursing through him, he fell against Peter’s chest as the man bottomed out, his balls nestling against Neal’s ass. Peter felt huge, pushing against Neal’ walls, stretching him even more than when they’d fucked earlier. 

Peter chuckled. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, give me a minute.” Breathing deeply, he sat up, managing to seat Peter even deeper inside him. “Fuck, you feel fantastic.”

“You do, too.” Peter thrust up hitting Neal’s prostate. “So damn tight.”

Neal raised up then slid down, over and over, waves of pleasure coursing through him. Peter moved in symphony with him, pushing deep, hitting his prostate with every thrust. His hands roamed Neal’s body, playing with his piercings, pinching his nipples, caressing his ass, blunt fingers touching where they were joined. 

Peter’s lips pressed kisses to his face, his teeth nipped his shoulders and neck, sucking bruises into his skin that would darken by morning. He whispered how beautiful Neal was, how perfect he felt in his lap, how tight Neal was around his cock, how he couldn’t wait to see him come.

It was all over as soon as Peter wrapped his hand around Neal’s cock, jacking it in time to his thrusts. Neal’s orgasm spiraled up from his toes, his balls tight and aching. With a shout, Neal shot hot ropes of semen over Peter’s hand, their stomachs, his cock. Dimly, he heard Peter’s answering keen as he felt him stiffen, spilling hot and wet deep inside, marking Neal in a way he’d never been before.

Neal collapsed against Peter, the last remnants of his orgasm making his body feel boneless. His eyes closed, he felt Peter’s heart beat against his chest, slowing as Peter came down from his release. Neal didn’t move, needing to keep Peter’s softening cock inside him for as long as possible.

Neal had no words for what just happened. He’d never felt anything like that before – physically or otherwise. Peter had taken him to a place he never even imagined. The closest he could come to was when he was younger and wished he could catch a dragon and soar the skies on its back. Sleepily, he chuckled. 

“What’s so funny?” Peter’s voice was amused.

“Just wondering what it would be like to ride a dragon.” Neal’s eyes closed as he fell into slumber. 

He never heard Peter’s laugh or feel him kiss his temple as he murmured, "You just did."


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Burke is a high-end jeweler. When he meets Neal Caffrey, a talented young jewelry designer, it seems like a match made in heaven. But when Neal discovers that Peter is an ancient dragon, it sets in motion a firestorm that neither one may survive.

And just like that – it was perfect.

Their days fell into a pattern. Coffee in the morning in the break room, the occasional customer consultation before lunch, grabbing a bite to eat with Diana and listening to her tease them unmercifully for ‘looking so cute together’, afternoons working with the highest quality stones, gold, silver and platinum. And, of course, Peter sneaking into his studio for “a meeting.” 

Neal could set his watch by Peter. Usually around three, Neal would hear the door to his studio open, close and the lock engage. He’d look up, and there would be Peter, gorgeous and grinning, stalking towards him like a panther in search of his prey.

It wasn’t that they were having sex. Most days it was simply Peter wrapping his arms around Neal from behind, nuzzling his neck and asking what he was working on. Neal thought Peter liked to lock the door just to give the illusion of naughtiness. 

Occasionally, though, Neal could tell that something was stressing Peter and he needed the release of sex. Neal would take one look at his lover; see the signs, slide out of his chair and drop to his knees. He’d push Peter against his drafting table, unzip his pants and take him in his mouth.

Riling Peter up so he could hear him moaning, Neal’d bring Peter to the edge and back, grinning up at him as he caressed Peter’s cock with his tongue. Then he would go in for the finish, sucking and licking until Peter exploded down his throat. Once he was done coaxing Peter’s orgasm out of him, he’d shimmy up and press his lips to Peter’s, sharing the taste. He wasn’t sure what Peter liked better – the blowjob or the kiss afterwards. Either way, Peter was relaxed, happy and back to functioning like a human, not a dragon on the edge of flaming innocent bystanders. Diana never asked for specifics - she was too classy for that - but would whisper “Thank you,” when they crossed paths in the break room.

Neal was more prolific than he had ever been. Peter kept him in the highest quality materials both old and new. His creations filled the display cases – everything from ancient Egyptian-style chokers, to earrings and bracelets influenced by Degas and Monet to full sets of jewelry in the style of the jazz age.

And the dragons – they filled his dreams, at rest, in flight. He designed jewelry and figurines to reflect his vision. The day that Peter gifted him with an antique dagger blade, claiming it came from the armory of Saint George, he locked himself in his studio overnight and wouldn’t let anyone in. Two weeks later Neal gave it back – its new hilt set in gold, rubies, amethysts and emeralds reflecting the rescue of the princess and the death of the dragon by Saint George. Peter told him it was the best gift he’d ever gotten and proceeded to fuck him senseless over the couch that night.

Evenings and weekends were spent learning each other. Dinner several times a week, either alone or with Elizabeth. Peter adored her cooking and had arranged for her to meet with one of his restaurant owner friends. With his help and connections she started her own event planning company – “Mitchell Premier Events” – and Peter used her exclusively. 

Broadway shows, out of the way jazz clubs where they could slow dance to the sounds of a sultry torch singer, small film houses where making out was just as important as watching the movie. Museum exhibits where Neal was floored at Peter’s extensive knowledge of the time periods.

Then there were the times where they wouldn’t get out of bed for the entire weekend. Peter would test Neal’s stamina, fucking him until he was spent, then coaxing him back so he could do it again. And again. After one particularly intense session, Neal glared at him and called him the “Energizer Bunny”, which made Peter laugh so hard he fell out of bed.

They explored each other’s boundaries, and Neal discovered he liked it when Peter restrained him, biting and sucking bruises into Neal’s skin. He knew Peter had a thing for Neal’s nipple rings, playing with them endlessly while Neal squirmed, arousal rippling throughout his body. He also loved it when Neal rode him, grabbing Neal’s hips and bucking up into him until they both came, sticky and sweaty as Neal collapsed over him.

But the times Neal liked the best were in the deep hours after midnight, when he was fucked out and sated and drifting towards slumber. Peter would nuzzle his neck and Neal would feel his cock, impossibly hard again, nudge its way back inside Neal’s body. Peter would murmur silly endearments into Neal’s shoulder as he rocked slowly back and forth, caressing Neal’s dick. They would fall asleep, Peter tucked inside Neal’s ass, his hand embracing Neal’s cock. 

It was perfect – until suddenly it wasn’t.

The day was a disaster from the beginning. Their distributor hadn’t shipped the new display interiors, and hadn’t bothered to let Diana know. On top of that, the shop’s insurance policy was going to be cancelled at midnight because the company had misplaced the store’s payment paperwork, and several of the staff were out with a summer respiratory bug. Peter had walked into Neal’s studio to ask him to help out on the showroom floor.

“I know it’s not your thing, but please?” Peter rubbed his hand over his forehead. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need you.”

“Not a problem.” Neal leaned over and gave Peter a kiss. “Relax, it’ll be fine. Let me change my clothes and throw on a jacket.” He headed over to the closet in his studio where he kept a pair of dress pants and a silk sweater for emergencies. “Lock the door, okay?”

As Peter flipped the latch, Neal quickly undressed. He had his pants halfway on when he looked up to see Peter grinning at him, a lustful look in his eye. “Stop that. We have to work.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the view.” Peter leaned back on the drafting table and licked his lips. Neal laughed and wiggled his ass at the other man. “Don’t start something you can’t finish,” Peter growled at him.

“Just think of that as a teaser for tonight.” Neal winked at his lover. “Maybe I’ll strip for you.” He rotated his hips as he pulled on his shirt and started buttoning it. “Make sure you have dollars.”

“C’mon, Ken. We’ve got customers.” 

Neal chuckled as he tucked in his shirt and pulled on his jacket. He felt Peter’s hand squeeze his ass as they exited the studio.

Three hours later and Neal was ready for a break. Diana had threatened the distributor into submission and the displays would be delivered tomorrow, a call to the insurance company and a fax of the cancelled check cleared up the cancellation issue, and Neal wound up in the middle of a domestic dispute when the wife of one of their customers caught him buying diamond and emerald earrings for his mistress.

Security had escorted them out of the store, but not before Neal had gotten smacked in the face by a bright pink Prada bag. He spent twenty minutes in the break room with a iced-filled towel pressed against his cheek, trying to bring the swelling down.

Peter checked on him after dealing with the insurance issue. “Let me see.” He moved the ice pack from Neal’s face. “Not as bad as I thought it would be. Does it still hurt?”

“A bit. I’ll probably take some Tylenol and it should be fine.” Neal emptied the ice into the sink. “Lunch?” 

Peter’s face fell. “Can’t. I’ve got a lunch meeting with the New York Jewelers Association Board.” He kissed Neal’s cheek. “I’d rather go to lunch with you.”

“Not a problem. But I _am_ getting out of the store. There’s a reason why I didn’t go into retail.”

“Okay, just let Diana know you’re leaving.” Peter gave him a hug. “Gotta go. Bring me back something sweet from wherever you’re going.”

“I will.” Neal watched Peter head out of the break room, his Armani suit hugging his long legs and wide shoulders and counted himself lucky to have him in his life. Popping his head into Diana’s office, he saw her intently staring at her computer.

“Diana, I’m going out to grab a bite at Melini’s.” 

“I can’t leave. Can you bring me back a cranberry chicken salad and an iced tea?” She clicked her mouse repeatedly, cursing.

Neal grinned. “Sure thing. I’ll bring back some of their cookies too. Sounds like you need some sugar.”

“Smartass. Don’t make me fire you.” She began typing again. 

“You can’t. I’m sleeping with the boss.” He winked at her. 

“Details!”

Laughing, he headed out for lunch. When he arrived at the restaurant, he sat at an outer table under one of the umbrellas. After placing his order, he took out a sketchbook and pencil to work on one of the commissions he’d recently gotten.

“Neal.” He looked up to see Sam standing next to his table and grinned. Over the last few months the two men had gotten close, Sam telling him all sorts of stories about his father when he was younger. “What happened to your face?”

“An unfortunate incident with a designer handbag and a philandering spouse.” Neal chuckled ruefully. Should be fine by morning. What are you doing here?” 

“I – I stopped by your work to see you, but you had just left, so I followed you here.” 

Neal frowned. Sam sounded off – not like the man who’d come to dinner at his house and teased him about his love for dragons. They’d had many conversations about the mythology of dragonlore and Sam was surprisingly knowledgeable, telling Neal things that even he didn’t know.

“Sam, you okay?” Neal motioned for the other man to sit with him. “You look worried.”

“I’m okay. Just…” Sam stopped in mid-sentence and Neal saw him look around, almost fearful. “I know you’ve told me where you worked, but I didn’t put two and two together until I came to ask you to grab a bite and I saw him.”

“Who’s him?” Neal was confused. 

“Wait. I’m not telling this right.” Sam sighed and looked piercingly at Neal. “Let me start again. How much did your mother tell you about the night your dad died?”

Neal paused, caution warring with his need to know more about his father. The need won out. “Not much,” he admitted. “After he died, she didn’t talk about him. Then she got sick and we had other things to deal with…” He trailed off.

“Your mom was a great woman and your dad loved her very much.” Sam leaned toward Neal and patted his hand. “Neal, you know your dad was a good man and a great cop, but after he died, your mom didn’t want to have anything to do with the police. She changed your name and moved from the neighborhood. Remember I said that she refused to talk to me and wouldn’t let me see you? She had a good reason.”

Neal combed through his memories of that time. There were bits and pieces of arguments, images of packing up their house and moving to a different place but nothing concrete. “Why? What was the reason that she didn’t want to see you?”

Sam regarded him. “Because the night your father died he was murdered by a rogue dragon and she was afraid it would follow me and come after the two of you.”

‘What?” Neal stared at Sam. That was ridiculous and his mind refused to process it. “You mean like a gang member, right? That kind of dragon?” He’d heard about a gang in Chinatown that went under that moniker. That must be it.

“No, a real dragon, Neal. Fire-breathing, wings, the whole nine yards.” 

“Dragons are a myth, you know that.” He stated that bluntly.

“No, Neal. They’re not. They’re real. And your dad and I hunted them.” Silently, Sam pulled out a cloth covered item from his pocket. He set it on the table in front of Neal. “Go on. Look at it.”

Neal reached out with a tentative hand and pulled the item closer. Slowly he unwrapped it. Nestled in the cloth was a small oblong-shaped item shimmering with a dull iridescence. Neal inhaled sharply, not wanting to believe in the object in front of him.

_It was a dragon scale._

Sam seemed to read his mind. “Yeah, it’s what you think it is. Pulled from the rogue that we were after that night.”

Neal ran a finger over it. The texture was warm, almost like it was still attached to the - . 

“No. This is a joke. And you’re full of shit.” Neal felt humiliated. Sam had taken his childhood love and had made a farce of it. He threw some bills on the table to cover his lunch. Standing up, he looked at Sam. “Don’t contact me again.” He began to walk away.

“Neal! Ask Peter Burke what he knows about dragons!”

Neal froze. Slowly he turned around and stared at Sam. “What did you say?”

“You heard me. Ask your boss what he knows about dragons.” Sam was standing at the table with a smirk on his face.

“Leave Peter out of this.” Neal took a step towards Sam. 

“I can’t. He’s the rogue who murdered your parents.”

“Murdered my parents? You’re crazy. My mother died of cancer and my father was killed in the line of duty.”

“The rogue poisoned your mother to keep your father from getting too close. You father didn’t listen and Burke murdered him. I have proof.” 

Neal swayed, his equilibrium tilting as he absorbed Sam’s words. The other man grabbed him and guided him back towards the table. “Here, sit down.” Sam put a glass of water into Neal’s hand and brought it to his lips. “Drink.”

Neal gulped the water, trying to make sense of Sam’s statements. A dragon killed his parents. Peter was a dragon. Peter killed his parents.

“No!” He was nauseous and sweating. Suddenly he felt Sam push his head to his knees and tell the waitress that it was the heat. “You’re lying,” he whispered.

“I’m not, Neal. I’m sorry.” He felt Sam put a dampened napkin on his neck. “There’s more, but I can’t tell you here.” Sam shoved a piece of paper into Neal’s hand. “The dragons have human agents that report to them. When you’re ready to hear what I know you can call me. Until then – Google ‘Peter Burke dragon’ and see what you find. I need to go.”

Breathing deep, Neal sat up. Sam was gone, but the scale was still on the table. Quickly Neal wrapped it back up and shoved it into his pocket with the paper. 

He couldn’t go back to work. Not with what Sam had told him. He needed to think. He pulled out his phone and called the store. Diana answered.

_“Did you get my salad?_

“Actually Diana, I think I need to go home. I’m not feeling well all of a sudden.” It wasn’t a lie. Neal felt awful. “Nauseous and sweaty.”

_“Ugh, yeah. Go home. I’ll let Peter know.”_ Neal could hear Diana’s concern.

“Thanks. We had dinner plans, but I think I just need to be home alone tonight. Tell Peter I’m sorry.” Neal wasn’t sure whether he was apologizing for missing dinner or for something else. He clicked off the phone and hailed a cab.

Sliding in the back seat, Neal gave the cabbie his address. Closing his eyes, he let his hand close around the scale in his pocket. 

For the first time in his life, he wished he’d never heard of dragons.

Neal’s house was silent, the only sounds the distant rumble of the trains and the honking of the taxicabs. His cell phone had stopped ringing and beeping several hours ago – Neal had finally convinced a worried Peter that he just needed some alone time to “feel better” and that he would see him tomorrow.

He’d pulled the curtains, uncorked the leftover Merlot from last night’s dinner and proceeded to get quietly inebriated. His buzz was wearing off, however, which meant everything that Sam had – and hadn’t – told him was whirling around in his brain.

With a shudder, he took another gulp of wine, feeling it course through his body. Picking up the dragon scale lying in the middle of his kitchen table, he rose unsteadily and stumbled over to the living room couch. Falling into the cushions, he closed his eyes for a moment, before he allowed himself to really look at the object in his hand.

Neal could see the pearly play of color shimmering across its surface. The texture was nothing like he’d ever touched before. He rubbed his thumb across it and felt a low tingling – almost electric – skitter across his fingers. There was no way that this was man-made, counterfeit, whatever you wanted to call it. He was holding a genuine dragon scale. 

Dragons were _real_. For a moment he allowed himself to bask in the realization that his childhood dreams were true before the possible truth of Sam’s words sent his heart plummeting. 

Dragons were real. Peter was a dragon. Peter killed his parents.

_NO!_ Neal refused to believe that. Peter was not a killer. The rational portion of Neal’s brain kept insisting that Sam was lying. Peter would never kill anyone. 

_You may not think he’s a killer, but you DO believe he’s a dragon._

That thought stopped Neal cold. He realized that while he’d denied that Peter could have killed his parents, he’d never questioned Sam’s statement that Peter was a dragon.

He needed another drink.

The half-empty bottle of Merlot was on the coffee table in front of him. Just what he needed. He took a long drink, finishing the bottle. Glancing over, he saw his laptop slightly buried under one of the couch cushions. Blearily remembering what Sam had said, he pulled it over and called up Google Chrome.

With only one or two false starts, he typed in ‘Peter Burke Dragon’ and hit enter. Half a million hits popped up immediately. He scrolled through them, able to eliminate the majority as related to “The Dragon’s Hoard” in one form or another.

It took fifteen minutes for Neal to whittle down the search to six potential websites. He clicked on the first one and winced - the bright red and yellow colors giving him the beginnings of a headache. Turning down the brightness, he began reading.

Two hours later he was sitting on the couch, feeling like he’d fallen down the rabbit hole.

All six websites ‘confirmed’ the existence of dragons as real beings. Granted, most of the pictures were blurry and made the official Loch Ness Monster photo from the 30s look authentic, but there were a few that showed _something_ that may or may not be real.

The majority of the information was the same – dragons had been around for centuries but kept themselves apart from humans due to the inevitable conflict between the two races. Fairy tales of the fire breathing dragon holding the princess hostage while the brave knight fought to save her were sanitized versions of real altercations over land and property. Each culture had their own stories based on historical facts and events.

Neal opened the bottle of water he’s gotten earlier and swallowed the Tylenol he needed to get rid of the full blown headache that was sitting over his right eye.

There were sections on the types of dragons still in existence, their long life spans, how they were able to shift into human form, mate with humans – he didn’t let himself read that part – and basically coexist in day to day life. 

Three of the six sites had a checklist on how to identify a dragon – ‘likes gold’ was at the top of the list – and a who’s who of prominent people who might be dragons.

Neal read down the list, chuckling at some of the names - the Kardashians, Flava Flav, Liberace, Elton John – amongst several high profile politicians, international dignitaries and sports figures. Scrolling down further, he saw it.

_Peter Burke, jeweler._

Peter’s name was in blue, which meant it was a live link. His mouth dry, Neal hesitated as he placed his cursor over the letters. He knew once he pressed the button there was no going back and he would have to live with the information he found.

The click of the mouse echoed throughout the living room. Almost immediately, a picture graced Neal’s screen – Peter, seated, stunning in a black Armani suit, a silver and black striped tie the perfect accent. His hands and wrists at rest on the arms of the chair, his form radiating unconscious supremacy. Complete strength in stillness. Neal licked his lips, knowing intimately what power Peter’s body had, had felt it pinning him down, caging him as Peter took and gave pleasure.

If that picture were all the evidence he was given, Neal would be hard pressed _not_ to consider the possibility that Peter was a dragon. 

He concentrated on the text next to the photo. It covered Peter’s unusual success in the high-end jewelry business – rivalling Winston and Tiffany - and questioned whether his great-grandfather truly was an ancestor or whether it had been Peter all along. Several photos followed – illustrations of portraits and daguerreotypes claiming to be the current Peter Burke, but they were too damaged or out of focus for Neal to make a determination. 

The blurb went on to discuss Peter’s connections with VIP’s and celebrities who were “out” and even hinted at possible mob connections a la Frank Sinatra.

A small image caught Neal’s eye. It was the local section of the New York Post dated 1971. The headline of the story read “Attempted robbery of local jewelry store possibly linked to Mob activity.” Next to it was a picture of “The Dragon’s Hoard.”

Again, a small picture of Peter and again, it was blurred. Almost as though he’d known there was a camera and intentionally moved just as the shutter flashed.

Neal huffed in frustration. There was _just_ enough information to raise his suspicions but not enough to confirm anything. Exactly what all the conspiracy theorists wanted. He sighed, closing his laptop. 

His thoughts were interrupted by Elizabeth’s ringtone. “Hey.”

“ _Hey there. Called the store and Diana said you went home sick. Are you okay?_ ” Elizabeth sounded concerned.

“Yeah, just have a touch of whatever’s going around.” Neal wasn’t going to tell her the truth – at least not yet. “I’ll be better in the morning I think.”

“ _You sure? I could bring over some soup if you want._ ”

“Thanks but I’ll be okay. Just need some rest, I think.” Neal paused. “Hey, El, can I ask you a question?”

“ _Sure._ ”

“Did your mom ever mention anything about the time when my dad died?” Neal stood up and headed over to the kitchen to get more water. “Anything…maybe…weird?” He fished out a water bottle from the fridge.

“ _No that I can remember…._ ” Neal could tell that Elizabeth was thinking. “ _Wait – there was this one time when we were older that mom mentioned something that Aunt Julia said to her. Let me think…it was something about your dad’s death not being as it seemed._ ”

“Can you remember specifics?” Neal gripped the water bottle tightly, his thirst forgotten.

“ _Something about Uncle James being led astray by a fairytale. It made no sense at the time. It was when Aunt Julia was in a lot of pain from the cancer and mom just kind of wrote it off as the drugs talking. Neal, why are you asking?”_ Elizabeth sounded concerned.

“No real reason. Just was thinking about them today.” Neal dug into his pocket and pulled out the paper with Sam’s number on it. “Hey listen, I’m kind of feeling tired and I think I’m going to lie down for a bit. I’ll call you later.” He hung up before she could ask any more questions.

_Led astray by a fairytale…_

Neal dialed the number on the paper. “Sam, it’s Neal. When can we meet?”

It was dark and damp, the beginnings of another summer storm rolling in over the Atlantic. Neal paid the cab driver and rushed up to the door as the first drops began to fall. Pressing the doorbell twice, then three times, as instructed, Neal chuckled to himself, feeling a bit like he was stuck in a B-movie plot. The only things missing were the femme fatale and the man in a black trench coat that should be following him.

Sam buzzed him in and was waiting for Neal at the door. “Anyone follow you?”

_Really_? It was just getting more ridiculous. “Not that I’m aware of,” Neal responded dryly. 

“Don’t be a smart ass, Neal. I know what this looks like. We have to be careful.” Sam flipped the four locks on the door, as well as the chain. “Remember, people have died over this.” He turned and headed into the living room, leaving Neal standing in the foyer. _People have died…my parents have died…_

Suddenly it didn’t seem so humorous anymore. 

“So are you coming in here or what?” Sam’s voice echoed in the foyer, startling Neal out of his thoughts. He hurried into the living room where Sam was seated, files and papers spread out over the coffee table. The older man gestured to a chair. “Sit.”

Neal took off his coat and laid it on the back of the chair before sitting down across from Sam. They both were silent, Neal looking at the items on the table and Sam looking at Neal.

“So…I Googled Peter like you suggested,” Neal began.

“And?” Sam sat back and quirked an eyebrow. “What did you find?”

“A lot of crazy.” Neal shook his head. “But…”

“Some stuff you couldn’t ignore, right?” Sam leaned forward. “Just enough truth under the conspiracy rants to make you wonder.”

“Yeah.” Neal thought about his next words. “The stuff about Peter – I’m having a hard time believing it.”

“Let me tell you what I know and see how you feel then.” Sam shuffled through the files, picking up some and shifting others. “Here, look at this while I fill you in.” He handed Neal a file.

“What’s this?” Neal opened it to find the same picture of Peter that he’d seen on the web site. 

“Peter Burke’s file. The public one.” 

Neal quickly read through the information. It outlined Peter’s life – where he was born, where he grew up, his family, his education – nothing that Neal didn’t already know. “Okay. It seems straightforward.”

“Now look at this one.” Sam handed him another file, this one a bit thicker. It had the same information that the earlier one had, but this one had notations and additional items. Items like lineage, photos, reports. All intimating that Peter was, in fact, a dragon.

“This is pretty much what I saw online. Hints, but nothing concrete.” Neal looked at Sam. “I thought you had proof.”

“I do. But let’s start with dragons in general. As a whole they aren’t bad, as long as they stay within their boundaries and don’t let the regular folks know that they exist. However, every once in a while there are a few that go rogue and do all sorts of damage.” 

Neal saw Sam dig through the papers and come up with a photograph. “You weren’t born yet when the New York blackout happened in 1977.” Sam gave Neal a photo. It was an instant photo from a Polaroid Land camera and showed policemen circa the 1970s standing on either side of a dead dragon. “It wasn’t because lightening hit a substation on the Hudson. That Wyvern was the cause. He blasted several businesses in the Buchanan area because they were rival companies.”

Neal stared at the picture. It was clear and sharp, the dragon in full light. Not shadowed like the photos on the web sites. There was no denying that it looked like a dragon. But even back then, Hollywood had a way of making the fantastical look real. Neal looked closer, trying to see if he could find anything that would indicate it was a set prop of some kind.

The dragon – Wyvern – had deep red scales and bright orange spikes. There was blood pooling under a large gash in its neck, as well as from several cuts along its head and body. The bulk of it was obvious – Neal could feel the weight even through the photo. 

Neal still considered the possibility it was fake until he focused on its eyes. Half-lidded, staring at the camera in hatred. Neal realized with a shock that the dragon was still alive – though barely – when the photo was taken. He could see the intelligence, dimming as the dragon died, but still obvious for anyone to see. Hollywood was good, but not THAT good. 

Unconsciously, his finger touched the picture and he felt a wave of sadness well up for the dragon. Such a majestic creature getting cut down like that just seemed so wrong. 

Sam continued. “There were a group of us over the years that were - recruited – I guess you could say, to hunt down the rogues and get rid of them before they did anything that would let Joe Citizen know they existed.”

Sam went on to explain to Neal what constituted a rogue. Destruction of property, danger to humans, and the threat of exposure. 

“So where does that put Peter? How do you know he’s a dragon?” Even though Neal now had seen proof of dragons, he still wanted concrete evidence that Peter was one and was rogue at that. 

“I know because of this.” Sam pulled up his shirt to expose his torso. Neal gasped. Across Sam’s belly and chest were huge scars – claw marks – that ran from one side of his body to another. They were old but still deep. “He did this to me the night he killed your father. The only reason why I’m still alive is because he was half-morphed and wasn’t a full dragon.” He tugged his shirt back down. “Now are you ready to hear the full story?”

Silently, Neal nodded.

“Peter Burke was, and still is, the oldest dragon living in New York City. He’s been around as far as we can tell since at least 1850. Of course he didn’t call himself Peter Burke. Every so often he would go underground and reemerge as a relative of some sort.”

Sam got up and headed to the kitchen, motioning Neal to follow. He poured them both a glass of water and leaned against the counter. “For the longest time there was no problem with him. In fact, he kept the other dragons in the area in line. Policing his own. Then, about the mid-1970s, there were rumblings about the dragons wanting to come out, that humans were ‘ready to know the truth,’” Sam made air quotes. “But in reality, the dragons wanted to be in charge, and humans were in their way.”

Neal sipped his water, trying to take in what Sam was saying. 

“So the powers that be talked to Burke and he reassured them that humans had nothing to worry about, that he would take care of it. He gave us some names of rogues that were behind it. What we didn’t know then was that he was the one orchestrating the idea.”

“But why?” It didn’t seem to fit with what Neal knew about Peter. 

“Because Burke wanted control of the area, which included dragons and humans, and if he could get rid of his competitors it would be easier to take over.” Sam walked back to the living room and picked up Peter’s file. Thumbing through it, he pulled out a few papers and handed them to Neal. “All this? The whole mob connection? It was a cover for Burke to start his takeover.”

Neal read the information. Everything in there pointed to exactly what Sam was telling him about Peter. His stomach started to hurt and he gulped down a wave of nausea. “So how…how was my dad involved? And my mom…?”

“James had been doing some basic research when he stumbled across the link between Burke and the dragon problem. He came to me and we brought it to the brass. What we didn’t realize, and should have, was that Burke had some top officials in his pocket.” 

Sam sat back down and put a metal box on the table. Opening it, he removed several photos. “Burke had been meeting with several of his contacts in the police department, keeping apprised of the situation.” Sam tossed the photos on the table. They were of Peter and several men in official police uniforms. “James and I were too close to the truth. So Burke sent a warning.”

Sam sat back and looked at Neal. “He let your dad know that he was getting too close and if he didn’t stop, then Burke would hurt him.” Sam paused. “James didn’t and Burke poisoned your mom with dragon’s blood. Gave her cancer.” 

Neal couldn’t breathe. His heart was hammering and his throat was tight. Sam had proof that dragons existed, that Peter was a dragon. Why shouldn’t this part be true also? A small voice tried to contradict him, tried to tell him that Peter wouldn’t have done that, but it was overwhelmed by the deluge of evidence in front of him.

“And my dad? Peter killed him?” Neal knew his voice was faint.

“Yeah. James and I went to his penthouse to take care of him. It was the only thing we could think of to do. Burke got the drop on us, hit your dad and broke his neck. I was getting James’ body out of there when Burke gave me the scars I showed you. It was all covered up and your dad got a posthumous commendation.”

Neal had reached his limit. He held up his hand. “I – I can’t. This is all too much. I don’t…” He stood up, staggering to the front door. 

Sam followed him. “You don’t believe me?” Sam was shouting. “I gave you proof, Neal – what more do you need? The next time you see him, check Burke’s back. Look for the dragon scales. Maybe if you see them for yourself you’ll know I’m telling the truth!”

Neal stumbled out of Sam’s house and vomited into the planter next to his door. He needed to get home, to see Peter, to stay away from him, to do something, anything to calm the tumult that was in his head, in his heart.

Weakly he hailed a cab. Climbing in, he gave his address, staring out the window at the rain as the cab pulled away from the curb.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Burke is a high-end jeweler. When he meets Neal Caffrey, a talented young jewelry designer, it seems like a match made in heaven. But when Neal discovers that Peter is an ancient dragon, it sets in motion a firestorm that neither one may survive.

In contrast to his state of mind, the day was clear, the temperature perfect, the sky blue. He’d spent the night sleepless, spent most of the evening staring out the window at the rain, Sam’s damning words echoing in his brain.

He knew he should have stayed away from The Dragon’s Hoard, but he couldn’t. He wanted answers. He _needed_ answers. And unless he confronted Peter – which seemed like a terrible idea – he wasn’t going to get answers. Instead, he snapped at Blake for no good reason which pissed Diana off to the point that she refused to go to lunch with him. It was a good thing that Peter was out for most of the day. Neal wasn’t ready to face him. He still needed to deal with the information that Sam had given him.

Neal looked down at the sketch he was making and realized it was the dragon from the photograph. He grimaced, for the first time in his life, desperately unhappy about his fascination with dragons. He needed to figure out what he was going to do. How he was going to deal with Peter. 

He was interrupted as the object of his thoughts wrapped his arms around him and nuzzled his neck. “What’cha working on?” Peter turned Neal’s chair around and kissed him. Neal couldn’t help but notice how gorgeous Peter looked dressed down in his grey cashmere v-neck sweater and tailored black Armani slacks. He had to stop. He couldn’t just brush what he knew under the carpet and pretend like nothing happened. 

“Nothing worthwhile.” Neal tried not to squirm out of Peter’s embrace, he tried not to give away his feelings. Instead, he put a grin on his face that he didn’t mean. Peter seemed to accept it and kissed him again quickly.

“Can I help?” Peter leaned over and tried to look at the sketch that Neal was working on. “Another dragon?” He moved to pick up the paper but Neal took it and balled it up, tossing it into the trashcan. 

“No, just something I was thinking about that wasn’t working.” 

“Wait. Let me see it. It might not be as bad as you think.” Peter reached for the paper. 

“No! It’s crap.” Neal fished the paper out of the trash before Peter could grab it and ripped it up into little pieces before dumping it back. 

“Why the hell did you rip it up for?” Peter was annoyed, his eyes flashing a bit. “Why didn’t you want me to see it?”

“Because it wasn’t for the store.” Neal stood up, sliding past Peter and heading to the mini-fridge for a bottle of water. He needed to get some space between them.

“So? That doesn’t mean I couldn’t have given you my opinion.” Peter followed Neal across the room. 

“No, what it means is that some things are none of your business.” Neal knew he was being intentionally combative but frankly, he didn’t much give a damn at the moment. All he wanted was for Peter to stay out of his personal bubble, because if he got any closer, Neal would break, and everything would come spilling out. 

Moving back to the drafting table, Neal sidestepped Peter’s outstretched hand. 

“Neal, what is wrong with you today?” Peter had switched from irritated to concerned. Which was exactly what Neal didn’t want, because a concerned Peter was a hovering Peter. 

“Nothing.” Neal bit the word and spit it out. “There’s nothing wrong with me.” 

“Then would you care to explain to me why you’re snapping my head off?” Neal could see Peter’s irritation flare up again. 

“Because I don’t need you looking over my shoulder like I’m in first grade art class,” Neal retorted.

“Wait, what?” Peter looked confused.

“I don’t need you to babysit me, Peter. I can work on my own without you hovering every damn day!”

“I don’t hover.” Peter’s jaw clenched so hard that Neal was surprised he didn’t break any teeth. 

“Yes you do. Every day. I can’t work like that. I need my space.” 

“Space?” Peter laughed in frustration. “You need your space? Oh, please don’t tell me you’re going to pull a diva artist fit!” 

“No, if I were going to pull a diva fit I’d tell you exactly how I feel about you nagging me to create more of your fucking dragons.” Peter gasped and Neal knew he’d crossed the line. 

“What did you say?” Peter’s voice was low, dangerous.

“I said ‘fucking dragons’, Peter.” Neal was almost shouting. “ _Fucking dragons._ I’m tired of them. Tired of looking at them, tired of drawing them. They’re useless pieces of mythology and I’ve wasted my life on them. Not anymore.” 

A low rumbling began. At first, Neal thought it was a passing truck, but then he realized it was coming from Peter. Breathing heavily, Peter was growling at him, the hollow of his throat and the side of his neck reddening. Slowly, his skin became iridescent, the ruddiness reflecting in the overhead lights. Neal could see the scales, faint at first, but then delineating the angrier Peter got. Neal felt like he’d been punched in the gut. Right in front of him, Peter was turning into a dragon.

For the first time, Neal was afraid of him.

Neal’s eyes darted frantically towards the door, mentally judging the distance in futile hope that he could escape, however Peter was in the way. He had to get past somehow. He took a chance and darted past the other man, but Peter was too quick. Neal found himself face first up against the wall, his wrist trapped in Peter’s hand.

“Let me go,” Neal hissed. Peter didn’t move, his hand tightening painfully on Neal’s wrist. “I said – Let. Me. Go.”

“No.”

“Why not, Peter? Neal sneered at him. “What are you going to do? Flame me?” The words tumbled out. “Or maybe just bite my head off. That’s what your kind does, right?” 

Peter dropped Neal’s wrist and stepped back in shock. “Neal…?”

Neal whirled to face him. “Yeah, Peter. I know what you are. And I know what you’ve done.” 

“What do you mean ‘What I’ve done’?” Peter’s face had drained of color, throwing the scales on his neck into stark relief. 

“Oh please! Don’t bullshit me. You’ve been lying to me since the beginning.” Neal headed towards the door.

“Wait! Neal we need to talk…” Stepping back in front of him, Peter tried to stop him. 

“Talking’s over, Peter.” Neal shoved the other man, sending him thudding against the wall. “I may be your employee, and I will do my job like I was hired to -- but as far as my personal life goes - we are done. We're _DONE._ ”

Neal rushed out of the store, holding up a hand to halt Diana when she approached him. He needed to get out before Peter could stop him, before Peter could wrap his words around Neal and glamour him into believing that everything was fine.

He needed to find Sam.

_Now_

 _“What I want doesn’t matter…”_ Neal stood there, dripping wet, the sword in his hand raised as if to deliver a killing blow.

The heartbreak in those words cut Peter to the core. He could see Neal’s hand shaking as he lifted the sword. “What do you plan to do, Neal?”

“Kill you.” Neal’s voice was hoarse. 

Peter considered those two words and he wondered what had happened to Neal, how he’d gone from friend and lover to assassin. Slowly he put the tumbler of whiskey on the end table and regarded the man in front of him. “If you do this, Neal – you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. You’re not a killer.”

Neal ignored Peter’s words. “I want you to know how they felt – how it feels to die.”

_They?_ Peter looked down the shaking blade. Neal’s arms were straining to hold it level, but the stress of his emotions was taking its toll. He’d solve this mystery, but he needed to get Neal into a more rational state of mind. And that wasn’t going to be easy. And it just might backfire and end with a lot of blood and pain. “Okay. Have you decided how yet?”

“What?” Neal looked confused.

“Have you decided how to kill me?” Peter reached out and ran his fingers lightly over the blade of the sword, admiring the workmanship. “While this is a lovely piece, it’s not going to work too well in the hands of someone who doesn’t know how to use it.” He removed it from Neal’s hand before the other man had a chance to react and slid it under his chair. “You really need something that’s more manageable. Try this.”

Peter pressed a dagger into Neal’s hand, closing the younger man’s fingers around it but not letting go. Neal sucked in a breath and Peter knew the minute Neal felt it that he recognized the dagger he’d created for Peter. “Peter…”

“Appropriate, all things considered, don’t you think? Definitely a dragon-killing weapon.” Neal began to speak but Peter shushed him, guiding their hands closer to his body and placing the dagger against his throat. “You might want to consider a stab to the throat – it could be effective.”

“Peter, what the fuck are you doing?” Neal started to struggle against his hold.

Peter ignored him, pressing the tip into his skin. He felt the sting of a small cut as he heard Neal gasp. “But on second thought, that could get messy and there’s no guarantee that you’d kill me right off the bat.” 

“Peter…” Neal was frantic, trying to pull the dagger away from him, trying to let go, but Peter had wrapped his hands around Neal’s, trapping him.

“I think the best thing would be for you to stab me in the heart.” Peter trailed the dagger down to his chest and rested it right above his heart. “Physically, it would be quick and painless. Assuming, that is, that you don’t really want to hurt me. Just make sure that I’m dead. Is that what you want, Neal?” 

“Yes…no…I don’t know…Peter, _stop_!” Neal fought him, but Peter’s strength kept him imprisoned. 

“Because if it’s about hurting me, then the leg is a good target – just a nick on the femoral artery and I’ll bleed out in a few minutes.” Peter sliced into his thigh, leaving a long shallow gash that welled red with blood. “Or maybe my stomach. That’s a nasty way to die.” 

NO!” Neal wrenched the dagger away from Peter’s body and fell to his knees, letting the weapon clatter to the floor. “Are you crazy?”

“No more than usual.” Peter saw the horror in Neal’s eyes at what had just transpired. He bent over and picked up the dagger, turning the hilt towards Neal. “It’s your choice, Neal. But before you _do_ choose the manner of my death, I think maybe I deserve to know why you want to kill me.”

Neal scuttled away from the blade. His face was drawn and Peter could smell the anguish rolling off of him. Gently Peter asked, “You _do_ still want to kill me, right?”

“No.” The word was so soft that even Peter almost missed it.

“Then why are you here?”

“You killed my parents.” 

That was not what Peter expected to hear. _He killed Neal’s parents_? Neal’s statement made no sense. As far as he knew he’d never met Neal’s parents before they died. “Okay, I think we need to talk about this.”

“No, I-I think I just need to leave.” Neal scrambled to his feet and headed to the door. 

Peter intercepted his flight. “Neal…”

Neal tried to push past him, but Peter placed his hand on the door, effectively blocking his exit. “Peter, please…just let me leave. I’ll never come back.”

“No.” Peter knew his voice was harsh, but he didn’t realize how much until he saw the look on Neal’s face and scented his emotion. _Fear._

Peter’s heart broke. This man that he loved was _afraid_ of him. How had they gone from perfection to - _this_ \- in the span of one day? Peter needed answers. He started to speak, to demand that Neal tell him what he meant by his statement when he realized - he was going about this all wrong. Neal would run if he pushed. 

“Neal, please…just…come sit down.” Peter stepped back, giving Neal the option of staying or leaving. He held his breath, waiting for the other man’s decision.

Neal nodded. Peter breathed again. Good. Maybe he would be able to get to the bottom of this mess they were in. He walked over to the living room, trusting that Neal would follow him. He picked up the dagger and placed it on the table. Turning to Neal, he held out his hand. 

Neal took it, and led himself be led to the chair Peter had been in earlier. Peter seated him and nudged an ottoman close so he could be right in front of him when he sat down. “Here.” Reaching for the whiskey, he placed the glass in Neal’s hand and closed his fingers around it. ‘Drink this while I get you a towel.”

“You know I don’t like whiskey.” Neal was gazing into amber liquid.

“I know, but you’re soaked through and probably cold. That will warm you up quickly.” Peter hurried to the bathroom and grabbed a towel. Returning just in time to see Neal take a small sip, he smiled to himself. They would get through this, if he could just figure out what was going on. He draped the towel over Neal’s shoulders and received a tight smile. Sitting down on the ottoman between Neal’s knees, he observed the other man.

Neal had aged. His face was pale, his eyes red-rimmed. His normal ethereal beauty was dimmed. Peter didn’t smell fear anymore, but he did scent despair, confusion and grief. That was never a good thing. He stayed silent, watching Neal.

“You need to do something about the cut on your leg.” Neal was stalling – it was obvious. 

Peter looked at the wound. He’d had worse. It was seeping slightly – nothing he had to deal with at the moment. “I’ll live.” He waited for Neal to continue.

Neal took another sip of the whiskey. “I don’t -.” He stopped. “I can’t -.”

Taking a chance, Peter reached up and cupped Neal’s jaw with his hand. Neal flinched but didn’t jerk away. A good sign. “Neal,” he began softly, like he was speaking to a scared child. “I don’t know what’s going on. I want you to tell me, but I’m not going to push.” He paused. “I love you, Neal, and nothing you say to me tonight is going to change that.”

Neal grabbed his wrist. Eyes haunted, he choked out. “I came here to _kill_ you, Peter! How can you love me after that?”

“Would you get angry with me if I said I knew that the man I fell in love with wouldn’t go through with something like that?” He searched Neal’s face, hoping that his words were making an impression. “It’s not in your nature, Neal. You’re a creator, not a destroyer.”

“What about your nature, Peter?” Neal was wary. 

Peter chuckled, keeping his tone light. “My nature is to appreciate beautiful things.” He tilted his head at Neal’s snort. “So – are you ready to talk to me now?”

Neal took a deep breath. “You’re a dragon.”

“Yes, I am.” Peter didn’t see any sense in denying it. Neal knew what he was and any protests would just ramp up the tension again. “When did you figure it out?” 

“Yesterday.”

“Can I ask how?” Peter needed this information. He’d made it a point over the years to be extremely discrete about his nature, so it puzzled him that Neal had learned about him before Peter had told him. If there were leaks, he needed to know about it.

“My father’s partner told me.”

“Partner?” Peter was confused. “What do you mean?”

“My dad was a cop. His partner told me.”

_A cop._ Peter’s blood ran cold, this was beginning to make sense. “Neal, start at the beginning.”

Neal did. He told Peter about Sam telling him about dragons and the group of policemen that went after the rogue ones. Peter’s stomach churned as he remembered his kin being cut down without reason. 

“And your father was part of this group?” He kept his anger in check. None of this was Neal’s fault.

“Yeah. According to Sam, my dad found out information that you were trying to take over the area.” Neal continued, his voice tight. “You sent him a warning and when he didn’t listen, you poisoned my mother with dragon’s blood.” 

Peter was speechless. He couldn’t believe the lies Neal had been told. “Neal, dragon’s blood doesn’t poison, it heals.” 

“That’s not what Sam said.” Neal surged to his feet and shoved past Peter. “You poisoned my mother and she died. She _died_ , Peter because of you!” 

“I can prove that you’re wrong.” Peter followed him as he paced. 

Whirling to face him, Neal sneered. “How?”

“Do you trust me?” _Please trust me._

“What do you think?” Voice cold, Neal stared at him. 

Peter spoke slowly. “I don’t know, Neal. There’s only one way I can prove this to you. And I’m hoping that even if you don’t trust me, at least you have faith in me. Please.”

Peter could see that he was thinking. “You’ll have to cut me.”

“Yeah, but it won’t be any bigger than a bad paper cut, I promise.” Peter stepped over to the end table and picked up the dagger. 

Silence again, then, “Okay.” Neal held out his hand and hissed when Peter made a small cut. Peter sliced his palm and pressed it to Neal’s. The other man flinched. “It feels hot.”

“That’s the blood working. Tell me when the feeling goes away.” Peter snagged the towel off the back of the chair.

“It’s gone.”

Peter wiped the blood from Neal’s hand. “See. Healed. Not even a scar.” He turned to put the towel down.

“Peter…” Neal caught his hand. “I -.”

“Why don’t you tell me the rest and let’s see if we can’t separate fact from fiction.” Peter knew the evening’s revelations were far from over and he wanted to get through it as quickly as possible for both their sake’s. “But first I need a drink. Do you want something? Maybe wine this time?”

“Water, I think. I need to keep a clear head.” They went into the kitchen. Peter poured them both a glass of water and they headed back into the living room. “So…I know we have more to talk about, but I have a question about what just happened – about dragons.” Neal sounded hesitant.

“Go ahead.” Peter was glad that Neal didn’t seem to have a problem with Peter’s nature.  
“If dragon blood can heal, why do you still have the gash in your leg?”

Peter chuckled. “And here I thought you were going to ask me something difficult. I need to shift in order to heal myself.” 

“So why don’t you?” Neal sounded eager and Peter could tell that his anguish hadn’t overcome his fascination with dragons.

He laughed again. “Because without trying to sound conceited, my dragon form is bigger than this room, and I wouldn’t want to destroy all the hard work Diana put in to decorating it.” He sat on the couch. Neal took the other corner.

“Can I ask another question?” Peter nodded. “Is Diana a dragon, too?

“Yep. Firedrake.” Peter finished his water and put the glass on the table.

“Huh.” Neal tilted his head. “That explains a lot.”

Neither man spoke for a bit.

“Peter…”Neal began. “Sam said you killed my father. Is that true?” Neal wasn’t accusing, but Peter could hear the uncertainty in his voice. “He said that he and my father came to see you and you broke his neck. That Sam was trying to leave with my father’s body and you slashed him.”

_No._ Peter mind froze. _It couldn’t be._ “Neal, what’s Sam’s last name?”

“Phelps, why?” 

It all gelled at that moment. 

The story. Sam. Neal’s father. Neal’s love of dragons. 

“Your father was James Bennett.” Peter’s voice was flat.

“Yeah. How did you know?” 

Hollow-eyed, Peter looked at Neal. “Because that’s the one part of the story Sam got right. The night they came to see me, I killed your father.”

Neal stared at Peter. The man who told him that he loved him – the man who he loved – just admitted that he had killed his father. He didn’t know how to react to the information, or Peter’s own shock as he realized _who_ he was, that he’d killed his father.

Neal stood and when Peter started to follow, he gestured at him to stay seated. “I’m not leaving. I just….” He walked to the balcony doors and stared out at the storm. The furor outside those doors mirrored the war inside him.

Yes, Peter had just confessed to killing his father. He didn’t lie to Neal, although he could have. He could have denied his actions, or made excuses. He could have said that the story Sam had told him was a lie. But he didn’t. Peter was willing to have Neal hate him for what he’d done as long as the truth was out in the open.

Sam on the other hand – Neal had come to realize that Sam had lied about many things. Neal wondered whether he’d lied about the reason that Peter had killed – _murdered_ , was the word Sam used – James. Neal knew it could just be semantics, but killing someone was different than murdering them. 

“Tell me it was an accident.” He stalked back to Peter and stood before him, his emotions swirling. 

Peter looked up at him, strain reflected in his eyes. “What?”

“Tell me that killing my father was an accident.” 

“I can’t tell you that, but I _can_ tell you it was unintentional.” Peter ran a hand over his face. 

Neal was at a loss. How could it be unintentional yet not be an accident? That made no sense. He stared at Peter, looking for an explanation. Peter just looked back at him, his eyes tired, his face drawn, silence weighing heavy on his frame.

Neal needed to know what happened. Peter had never outright lied to him and Neal didn’t think he would start now. Squaring his shoulders, Neal sat down on the couch next to Peter. “Okay. So tell me what happened.” 

Peter sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. Opening them again, he looked at Neal, his deep brown eyes full of sorrow. “Sam and your father came to rob me, and in the process, someone very special to me was killed. In anger and grief I struck your father and broke his neck.”

Neal was taken aback at Peter’s comment. “Sam didn’t say anything about someone else being killed.” 

“I’m not surprised. It sounds like Sam told you only what he wanted you to hear.”

“I’m beginning to see that.” Neal looked at Peter and could see the lines on his face. He hated that he’d put them there, albeit unintentionally. Taking Peter’s hand, he kissed it. “Can you tell me the details? I need to hear them.”

Peter shifted and removed his wallet. Flipping it open, he pulled out a photo, its edges creased. “This is David Siegel,” he said softly, handing the photo to Neal. It was a shot of Peter and an attractive blond-haired man. They were facing each other, eyes laughing. “He was a firedrake. I met him when I invested with his grandfather in the elevator button business.”

Neal raised an eyebrow. “Elevator buttons?” 

“You’d be surprised how lucrative that was.” Neal glanced up from the picture to Peter’s face. He was looking at the picture in Neal’s hand with a mix of fondness and sadness. “Even though he was very much younger than me and we lived in different cities, whenever we were together, David and I were inseparable.”

“Eventually, David left Chicago and came to work with me in the jewelry business.” Peter paused and Neal saw a flurry of emotions cross his face. “He became my assistant, much like Diana is now, with one exception.”  
“What’s that?”

“He and I began a relationship. Actually, it was more like I was courting him.” Peter blushed. “Dragons don’t ‘date’ like humans do. When we choose someone, we’re very old-fashioned. We bring them gifts, provide for them. Show them that we can care for them.”

When Neal looked back at the photo, he could see what Peter was talking about. The two men looked smitten - arms around each other, thighs close together, awareness of each other’s bodies. They were in love. And Sam and James took that away. It made Neal angry. For Peter’s loss, his heartbreak. 

With a start, Neal thought about all the gems and jewelry items that Peter had gifted him with and realized with a small smile that was exactly what Peter had been doing – courting him. He looked up at Peter and saw that he was blushing. “Yeah, we’ll talk about that later.” 

Neal nodded. Now was not the time. But they _would_ talk about it. “So what exactly happened that night?” he asked, handing the photo back.

“The night Sam and your father broke in, David was over for dinner. I had planned to ask his permission to make our relationship official.” Peter put the photo back in his wallet. “We’d upgraded our main security system that week and for some reason it wasn’t working. I found out later that it had been sabotaged.”

“Sam?” Neal suspected it was. 

“Probably so. We never caught the people who did it. Anyway, we had a guard patrolling the store and the specific alarms set. About eight, the silent alarm to the vault that rings in my apartment went off. David and I headed downstairs to check it out and found Sam and your father in the process of trying to break in to my vault.”

Neal could imagine the stand off. David and Peter squared off against James and Sam. 

“Sam was mouthing off, but your father was quiet. I could tell he wasn’t comfortable with the situation. Because of him I was willing to let them go with just a warning. Then Sam pulled a gun and things got ugly.” Peter shuddered and Neal swore he could see the scene play out again in the other man’s eyes.

“David lunged for the gun and when he did, James grabbed him. They struggled and the gun went off. Dragons are long lived, but we’re not immortal. If you shoot us or stab us in the heart we die. James got off a lucky shot. David was dead before he hit the ground.”

“I got angry, Neal. I’m sorry.” The pain in Peter’s voice was palpable. “When I saw that your father had killed David, I lost control and backhanded James. The blow broke his neck. I – I don’t even remember Sam taking James’ body out of the store.” Neal heard the hitch in Peter’s breath. “I took care of David’s body and the next day, reported the break in and threw suspicion on one of the local mob bosses.”

“Why?” Neal was surprised. “Why didn’t you just hunt Sam down?”

“Because too many people died that night. What happened to James and David was unintentional. If I’d gone after Sam it would have been murder.”

“And you’re not a murderer,” Neal said softly.

“I’d like to think that’s the case, but if anyone harmed you, I don’t think I could stop myself.” Peter stood and walked to the window - the same spot where they’d first kissed. Neal could see the slump of his shoulders, the weight of the past dragging him down.

Neal understood how he felt. They both were exhausted from the truths that had come out this evening. 

Peter shuddered and Neal realized he was crying. His lover, his _dragon_ was crying. Neal crossed the room and wrapped his arms around Peter. “Shhh,” he soothed, trying to calm the other man. Their reflections appeared and disappeared in the glass as lightning lit the sky. 

Peter turned to Neal, burying his face in his neck. Neal felt Peter’s lips whispering words into his skin. _I’m sorry, I love you, forgive me,_ over and over. 

“Peter, look at me.” Neal gently cupped Peter’s face and tilted it so the other man could look at him. “I love you. There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Which was the truth. “It was a bad situation that ended in an accident.”

“I know, but your father died at my hands, Neal.” Peter took a deep breath and Neal knew he was trying to settle himself. “I’ll understand if you can’t forgive me – if you need to leave -.”

“Peter.” Neal interrupted him. “I need you to listen to me.” He paused, composing the words in his head because they needed to be perfect. “My father - what I know about him - is like a fable. A story that’s fantastical, imaginary, but not real. Growing up, I built him up to be the perfect man. Tonight I learned that he’s not – that the image that I have of him is not real.” Neal leaned up and softly kissed Peter. Pulling away, he rested their foreheads together. “That’s real, Peter. _You’re_ real. My father’s my past. You’re my now. I love you. And I’m not going to leave.”

When Neal said those words, Peter felt the weight that was crushing his chest disappear. Neal forgave him. “Thank you,” he whispered before claiming Neal’s lips with his own.

Neal tasted delicious – like pomegranates and oranges and _Neal_. Peter lost himself in the sensation of Neal’s mouth, Neal’s tongue.

“You just couldn’t do it, could you?” The voice was cold, mocking. 

Peter broke away, gasping, to see a stranger in his house. Instinctively he stepped forward in front of Neal, bristling at the intruder. “Who the hell are you?”

“Sam?” Neal was puzzled. “What are you doing here?” He moved around Peter towards the other man, but Peter stopped him. He didn’t trust Sam not to hurt Neal. Peter knew he was displaying his alpha tendencies, but he had a bad feeling about what was going to happen. 

“Good question. And more importantly, how did you get in?” Peter prided himself on his security and for someone to get past it -. 

“Unlike Neal, I don’t have a problem taking care of things. Your door man was no obstacle.” Sam held up a keycard smeared with blood. 

“You sonofa - .” Peter lunged forward but pulled up at the sight of a gun leveled at his chest. “He had a _family_!”

“Yeah well, if I get out of here quickly, I’ll call an ambulance for him and he might just survive.” Sam waved the gun towards the couch. “Now sit down!”

“Sam, what the hell are you doing?” Neal didn’t move. 

“Fixing your family’s mistake.” Sam moved closer and cocked the gun. “I said sit down.”

“What are you talking about? What mistake?” Neal still hadn’t moved towards the couch. Peter wanted to beg him to follow Sam’s order, to possibly get him out of harm’s way, but he knew Neal wouldn’t listen. The only thing Peter could do was to watch for his chance to disarm Sam.

“You dad screwed up when he killed that dragon. I knew I shouldn’t have taken him with me. He didn’t have the guts for it. I figured when you were old enough I’d find you and send you to finish the job we started. That’s why I fed you all that bullshit about Burke.” Sam laughed in derision. “Guess I was wrong.”

“That’s why you lied to me? For revenge?” Neal’s voice was laced with anger and betrayal. 

“Why else? When I saw that you were getting involved with him it was the perfect opportunity to get back at him.”

Neal surged toward Sam. Peter grabbed him. “Neal, stop!” 

“No Peter. It’s his fault that my father’s dead!” Neal struggled, but Peter refused to let go.

“I know. And he’ll kill you in a heartbeat, too.” Peter felt Neal stop fighting him and let him go.

It was a mistake. “You asshole!” Neal went after Sam again. 

The crack of the gun was deafening as Sam fired, the bullet lodging into the parquet floor inches from Neal’s feet. “That’s your only warning, Neal. The next one goes through Burke’s heart.” 

Peter knew Sam meant it. “Calm down, Neal.”

“Why did you go after Peter in the first place? If you’d left him alone my father wouldn’t be dead.” Neal’s voice was shattered. Peter’s heart broke as he heard echoes of the little boy who’d lost his father.

“Because they think they’re better than we are,” Sam shouted, his face red with anger. “They lord their riches over us humans. Flaunting it. Acting like we’re nothing. And he’s the worst.” Sam pointed the gun at Peter. 

“So what are you going to do, Sam?” Peter’s voice was calm, belying the stress he felt. He was hoping that Sam would be arrogant enough to share his madness so Peter could formulate a plan of attack.

“I’m going to make it look like the two of you had an argument that got out of control. You accused Neal of stealing from you. You shot him, but he got a shot off, too and you both bled out. Such a shame. Now go sit down, Neal.” He waved the gun towards the couch.

Peter saw his chance. He lunged forward, knocking the gun out of Sam’s hand and tackling the man to the ground. “Neal, run!” 

They fought, knocking into furniture and sending the table lamps crashing to the ground. Sam escaped for a moment, but Peter was able to bring him down again. The other man retaliated with a kick to Peter’s head. The blow was just enough to stun him and Sam was able to break free again. 

Instead of going for the gun, Sam grabbed the dagger that was on the end table and whirled around, his intent to stab Peter crystal clear.

Neal charged him. “No!” He grabbed Sam, wrenching the dagger up and away from Peter. 

The two men struggled over the weapon, neither one getting purchase, until Neal stumbled over the edge of the lamp on the floor. In slow motion, Peter saw Neal lurch, his eyes widening, his mouth agape. Stumbling back, Neal put a hand to his belly. Following his movement, Peter could see the beginning spread of crimson seeping into Neal’s shirt. Neal took his hand away, bloody, and stared at Peter in shock. 

“Peter?” His voice was soft, questioning. Holding out his bloody hand, Neal collapsed.

_No, no no!_ Peter caught him, easing him to the floor. _Not this time,_ was all he could think. He was not going to lose Neal like he’d lost David. 

He pressed his hands against the wound. “Stay with me, Neal.” 

“Hurts, Peter.” Neal’s voice was breathy.

“I know, I know.” Peter raised Neal’s shirt, paling at the deep wound in Neal’s stomach. He ripped his sweater off, balled it up and applied pressure. “You’re gonna be okay…”

Peter’s shoulder exploded in fire. Rearing back, he roared in pain, his face morphing into the long lines of his dragon form. Sam had stabbed him. He turned around, wrenching the dagger from his shoulder and plunged it hilt deep into Sam’s chest. Shoving the dying man away, he turned back to Neal.

Neal’s eyes were closed and he was breathing shallowly. A pool of blood was spreading slowly around his body.

“Neal. _Neal_!” 

“Peter…” Peter could barely hear him. 

“Hang on, Neal. Please!” Neal shuddered and went limp. He wasn’t breathing. “Oh God!” _No_! He couldn’t lose Neal. He’d never be able to survive. 

Peter frantically checked for a pulse. Slight, but there. There was still time. Peter’s incisors elongated, fangs dropping down. Biting his lip and tongue, he felt the blood well up in his mouth. Pressing his mouth to Neal’s, he prayed that he would be able to get enough blood down Neal’s throat to heal him. He massaged Neal’s neck trying to coax a swallowing reflex.

The minutes ticked by with no response. Peter kept dripping blood into Neal’s mouth. His heart soared when he felt Neal’s lips move under his. Pulling away, he saw Neal’s eyes flutter open as he took a gasping breath.

“Peter?” His voice hoarse, Neal looked groggily at him. “What…?”

“Oh thank God!” Gathering him in his arms, Peter moved him to the couch. “I thought I lost you.”

Neal smiled weakly. “Not going anywhere…”

“Good.” Brushing a lock of hair off Neal’s forehead, Peter kissed his temple. Neal mumbled something too low for Peter to hear. “Say that again?”

“Over. Is it over?” Neal turned his head into Peter’s neck and shivered. 

Taking a deep breath, he looked at the wreckage of his home and smiled. “Yes, Neal. It’s over.”

Peter loved a full house. The store was packed with customers old and new, all here to see the newest custom line of jewelry and art from The Dragon’s Hoard. Rubies and emeralds flirted with amethysts and diamonds in a display that was reminiscent of a pirate’s bounty.

Elizabeth had outdone herself. Waitstaff were circulating trays of hors d'oeuvres with a dragon and jewel theme – everything from pan seared foie gras with candied mandarin orange and pomegranate pearls to spicy dragon rolls. Specialty cocktails flowed in abundance, all designed to create the mood for the display of gold, silver and precious gems.

The highlight of the exhibition took center stage in the middle of the store for everyone to see. Glowing under the lights, the gold and jewels of the custom desk set looked stunning on the black velvet display, each piece telling a story of dragons and humans and conflict and forgiveness and love. Peter moved closer to admire it, impatient to whisk it away from all the coveting eyes.

“It’s beautiful.” Mrs. Neidermeyer was standing next to him, champagne glass in hand. “I assume it’s not for sale.”

Peter chuckled as he looked at her. “That would be correct. I’m keeping this one for myself.”

Mrs. Neidermeyer smiled up at him, her eyes glinting. “And its designer?” She nodded her head at the group in the corner.

Peter followed her gaze to see Diana, Blake, Elizabeth and Neal. They were deep in conversation. Dressed in an exquisitely tailored pinstripe Armani, Neal was in his element and Peter couldn’t get over how beautiful he looked. He watched as Neal laughed at something Diana said. Then, as if he knew Peter was looking at him, Neal turned and their eyes met. Neal smiled, giving him a look - a raised eyebrow full of promise and invitation. Peter turned back to the woman standing next to him. “I think I’ll keep him, too. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

Placing his glass on a passing tray, Peter walked toward Neal, the desire in his expression answering Neal’s gaze. Sliding in next to him, Peter leaned in and exhaled a breath against Neal’s neck, thrilled at feeling him shiver. Moving in more closely, his cock brushing the curve of Neal’s ass, Peter growled lightly. “So…I think we’ve been social long enough this evening.” 

“You do?” Neal’s laugh vibrated against Peter’s chest, sending frissons of desire curling throughout his body. 

He snorted softly, not caring if anyone caught a whiff of smoke. “Yes. I do.” 

“What do you have in mind, Peter?” Neal’s voice was low, throaty and full of sin.

“Whatever you want.” _Always._

“You know…I’ve always wanted to ride a dragon…”

_Fin_


End file.
